Slytherin
by SalazaraSlytherin
Summary: If Hermione was sorted into Slytherin. Major OOC. By that I mean that there is a Hermione-ish OC, because there is no way that the canon Hermione would ever do any of the things she does here. Full explanation inside. Gets really good second year. DARK. MATURE THEMES. POLITICS. Manipulative, controlling, terrifyingly intelligent protagonist. Eventual romance. Suggestions welcome.
1. Chapter 1

**To clear up any confusion right away, this is meant to be a "Dark Hermione" fic. I wrote the first chapter, read it, and thought: this is so OOC. **

**I don't do things halfway. If I'm changing the way a character acts, I'm going to change her appearance and name to go with it. If this bothers you, don't read this. But if you love dark/gray/Slytherin Hermione, you are going to love Victoria. She is in Hermione's place, and she has certain defining traits that Hermione does - namely intelligence and a thing for defending house-elves. **

**Victoria is not Hermione... But she also is. Which is probably very confusing. **

**I tried. Also, the first eleven-ish chapters are in desperate need of editing - the good stuff starts after that. So if you've read past that point and you still hate it, you're most welcome to tell me so.**

_Five years ago:_

"Give. It. Back," Victoria Savorgnan said, extending her arm for the book that was just out of her reach.

The mousy-looking boy dangled it higher over his head. "Nuh-huh"

"It's mine, Alex," Victoria said, wondering how the two of them could possibly be the same age - six.

"Yours?" the boy laughed. "If it's yours, here, have it!

The thick spine of the volume collided with her cheek.

"That's what you get, you bookworm," the boy laughed again, failing to notice the warning flash of her eyes and the way her body went taut, like a rubber band about to snap. "That's what you get you little rat — ARGH!"

Unlike Victoria, whose pain tolerance was sky-high, Alex screamed loudly as a bruise (a mirror image of her own) began to appear on his cheek.

"VICTORIA! YOU AWFUL GIRL!" Mrs. Peterson's shrill voice rang out. "Alex, dear, are you okay? What happened?"

The boy sobbed. "Sh - she l-looked at me, a-and —"

"Shush, now. It's fine to admit she hit you. It doesn't make you any weaker," Mrs. Peterson, their teacher, said, rubbing soothing circles down Alex's back, while Victoria attempted to beeline for the exit.

"Not so soon, young lady!" Mrs. Peterson cried, grabbing her by the shoulder and dragging her to her office. "This the fifth time you've hurt someone this month!"

"But —"

"No buts! Did you know that Anne Lyons and Andrew Willis are terrified to come to school because of you, hm? Too afraid to even say what you did to the them. Anne's mother had her see a psychologist, but poor dear kept saying you _cursed _her!"

Mrs. Peterson took a deep breath as she sat Victoria down in a chair with strict orders to sit still and touch nothing while she went to get Alex.

The girl looked around the room with disinterest. There was yellow paint on the walls, and though it meant to look cheerful, it made the dim space seem drab. The desks were the typical plastic, painted to look like wood (it didn't).

"... there, Alex. You're going to be fine."

Mrs. Peterson stormed in, the boy cautiously following her. The bruise on his cheek was a glaring shade of red.

"Well, Alex. Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Alex's lip trembled. "She-she's a witch!"

At hearing this, Victoria scoffed. A witch. _Honestly_. Witches weren't real. _She _was.

…

It ended the way it always did: Mrs. Peterson yelled at her, but since no one could prove that she had anything to do with Alex, or Anne, or Andrew, or any other children's accidents, Victoria stayed at the same school as year after year went by. There was, however, one major difference: she learned how to charm her teachers. It was all she needed to get the other students to back off and leave her alone. There were no more mystery injuries. Mrs. Peterson was eventually fired, and Victoria was left in peace.

The thing about peace is that it never last long.

She always knew there was something different about her. Things appeared when and where she wanted them. Her hair somehow untangled itself without the help of a brush. Doors locked and unlocked, seemingly on their own. She was never too cold or too hot. Her neighbour's bloodhound (who hated everyone, and nearly bit off the owner's hand once) was as sweet as a bunny to her.

She could stick her hand into the fire and not get burned, and if she snapped her fingers and concentrated hard enough, bright green flames would appear in her hand.

And honestly? She _loved_ it.

So, it wasn't too surprising that a silver-haired man dressed in the most atrocious robes of bright fuschia showed up at her doorstep claiming that she was a witch. He introduced himself as Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

It was on her eleventh birthday that she found herself sitting on the sofa, sandwiched between her parents, while they were trying to articulate an adequate response to having a stack of newspapers levitated in front of them by the Headmaster. It must've been so shocking to them see what should be impossible. But all her mind could stay on is that even in a world of magic, she was different. And this time, it might not be in a good way.

"Professor," she asked, "Does it matter that my family isn't… magical?"

"No, of course not," Dumbledore answered quickly. _Too quickly_. "Everyone is welcome at Hogwarts."

Victoria didn't believe him. She's met enough bigots who were hateful of everything they deemed even slightly out of the ordinary.

Dumbledore passed her a roll parchment with a list of things she would need for the year. Like dragonhide gloves. And a wand.

She should be bemused. She should be staring at the Headmaster's little display of magic in wide-eyed wonder.

But in her heart of hearts she expected this day to come for a long, long time.

"You will find those in Diagon Alley - the wizarding shopping district, if you will," Dumbledore continued nonchalantly, "Normally we would have a professor accompany -"

"That wouldn't be necessary, Headmaster," she cut him off. She wanted to explore all she could, and that wouldn't be possible if there was a teacher leading her from place to place hurriedly. They had a job to do, after all. There was a whole world, a world she belonged to, that was hidden from her her whole life. She deserved to see it.

"Very well," Dumbledore answered, and there was something funny in his voice when he said this, as if he was recalling something from long ago, "I will give you the directions."

…

The entrance to what Dumbledore dubbed as the "wizarding shopping district" was hidden behind an old, grimy pub in London. It was far less… _grandiose_ than she expected. But the pub - named "The Leaky Cauldron" had one particular feature she thought was most interesting - non-magical people, muggles as wizards called them, couldn't see it. She led her parents inside by hand - to them it appeared as though they were passing through a wall. But once they got inside the illusion - _the ward_ \- faded, and they saw a stuffy room filled to the brim with witches and wizards wearing robes in all kinds of crazy colors and patterns, and pointy hats. Some had brooms with them. On the menu display she caught names of drinks like "butterbeer" and "firewhiskey". She forced her way through the crowd and went out of the back door where a helpful elderly witch in a ridiculous hat topped with a stuffed _vulture_ tapped her wand against a wall three times. The bricks shuddered and began to shift. Soon, an archway large enough for several people to pass through appeared.

What lay beyond took her breath away.

She nudged her parents, who were too caught up staring at the shifting masonry to notice anything, and motioned to the busy street.

Diagon Alley was unlike anything she had ever seen before. Narrow buildings lined both sides, alive with bustling crowds and sparkling displays. Some of the shops were tilted at angles that were positively dangerous, and it was clear that the only thing that kept them standing was magic. In fact, it looked as if magic was the answer to everything there.

And it was absolutely _perfect_.

They went to the bank first, as Dumbledore directed, to exchange muggle currency for wizarding galleons, knuts, and sickles. It was a beautiful marble building, large with gold and crystal chandeliers, and floors so shiny she could see herself in them. But the grandeur of it faded next to the fact that Gringotts Wizarding Bank was operated by _goblins_.

Short and somewhat gnarled looking, they sat behind large counters stamping papers, writing checks, and managing dozens of people with brutal efficiency.

It was a further reminder that there was so much to learn, so much to explore, so many little details she would have to remember to navigate this world comfortably. And if she had to get some fifty books to do that, then so be it.

After all, she was never the one for mediocrity.

She saved the wand shop for last.

The owner, one Mr. Ollivander, was a grey-haired man, close in age to Dumbledore as far as she could tell, and just as eccentric as the Headmaster, albeit in a different way. He was as immersed in his art as one could possibly be, and it was easy to see, even to her untrained eye, that he was good at what he did.

Picking a wand turned out to be a daunting task.

Ollivander observed her for a few minutes, measured her height, and asked her what her "wand arm" was - she told him it was her right.

"I always say that the wand chooses the wizard," the wandmaker began, "But it doesn't hurt to help it a bit. I believe that a phoenix feather core would be the best from you - it's a very rare core, however, and I'm not quite sure about the wood…"

Ollivander ran about the cramped space with surprising agility, collecting dusty black boxes from around the floor-to-ceiling shelves. They spiralled around the perimeter of the shop, and went as far as to cover the windows. The wand make brought her nine boxes, murmuring something unintelligible under his breath. He opened one of them. A slender pale wand lay inside.

"Silver lime, ten inches, phoenix feather core," Ollivander told her. "A bit of an odd combination, but the wood is very prized."

She took the wand in her hand. Immediately she knew it wasn't hers. There was a sense of wrongness tingling her fingers in a way that was decidedly unpleasant, but at the wandmaker's urging she waved it around experimentally. A few orange sparks flew weakly from its tip.

Ollivander frowned.

"Here, try this one," he pushed another box in front of her. "Black walnut, eleven inches."

The wand inside was darker and slightly thicker than the former. When she touched it, thick smoke erupted from it's tip. The wandmaker plucked it from her hand and gently lay it back down.

"Not this one either," he murmured, running off again and bringing more boxes with him.

After the seventy-sixth wand - she counted - her left eye began to twitch.

"... certainly it can be… What are the chances… Unlikely… But… Yes, maybe… Yes…" Ollivander said under his breath before rushing to a cabinet in an obscured corner of the shop.

He brought a dusty old box with him. Beneath the near-opaque layer of dust, she caught traces of what once was an expensive, beautiful material - jacquard, perhaps.

"This wand was made by my ancestor many, many centuries ago, at a… special request of a certain acquaintance - yew, thirteen inches, unyielding. It has a very special core, that I'm afraid I can't tell you much about, except that the creature from whom it was taken was the last of her kind. They exist no longer," Mr. Ollivander told her " Luckily for us all."

She knew the wand was hers the second she laid her eyes on it. It was absolutely stunning, resembling brass in colour, with an emerald-eyed snake carved into its surface. How fitting.

She reached out and grasped it gently. There was a pulse within the wood, deep in its core that answered her call like a beast awakened from slumber.

Suddenly, brilliant green flames erupted from its tip, curling around and up her arm, lighting up the room in eerie lighting that was at once hot and cold.

"How much do I owe you, Mr. Ollivander?"

…

It went unnoticed by everyone present that for a millisecond her eyes flared a glowing, white-hot green.

The color of her flames.

_The color of the Killing Curse._

…

She left the wand shop feeling happier than she ever had. A sense of rightness settled within her bones; it was as if she had found a part of herself that she never realized was missing. It was absolutely euphoric.

The fact that she resisted using it for an entire month was a testament to her self-control. She locked it up in her bedside drawer upon getting home, but she could still feel the power of it sing to her. It was maddening, but the promise of using it freely in some thirty days had peaked her tolerance. She could wait.

Self-preservation ran deep and strong in her bones after all.

Instead the young witch buried herself in her tomes - she was determined to finish them all during the last month she would spend at home before leaving for Hogwarts. Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts - subjects that were being researched by wizards as thoroughly as sciences were researched by muggles.

For the first time in her life she found herself counting days toward September first with anticipation.

…

"Severus, may I have a word?"

"Headmaster," the potions master inclined his head in agreement as his colleagues shuffled out from an obligatory start-of-the-term staff meeting.

Once everyone left, Dumbledore spoke:

"I have a few concerns regarding one of this year's students," Dumbledore said with a sickeningly pensive look on his weathered face " a muggleborn, Victoria Savorgnan."

"And why is that," Snape asked with a raised eyebrow "you've concerned yourself with someone other than the Potter boy?"

Severus knew the Headmaster for long enough to know that anything that caught the man's attention would mean trouble to him. Snape didn't want trouble - this was the year he's been dreading for over a decade, and now, caught within the web of promises, he had to stay. He had to stay and he had to see the living proof of his failure to save Lily.

Severus blinked quickly, clearing his mind until he felt nothing. _Much better._

Dumbledore sighed, guessing at the path the Professor's thoughts had taken.

"There's… something about her that reminds me of someone I once thought I knew," he said. "If you ever see anything suspicious, I beg you, Severus, tell me right away. I've done enough harm the first time I've let things slide…"

…

The summer flew by, and finally on the first of September Victoria found herself in an empty compartment aboard the Hogwarts Express. She was reading _Hogwarts, A History_ for the third time, turning the pages like it was some kind of anchor.

The sound of the compartment door sliding open registered in a corner of her mind.

"Hello. I'm Malfoy - Draco Malfoy," a haughty voice spoke, intoning _Malfoy_ like some kind of title.

She finished the sentence she was reading before slowly raising her eyes to the intruder. She took in his polished shoes and a perfectly pressed uniform, and shiny platinum blond hair, before zeroing in on his haughty expression not unlike the one her old classmates often wore.

"Victoria Savorgnan," she said flatly.

"Savorgnan? That's no pureblood name."

Pureblood. It didn't take a genius to figure out what the term meant. She couldn't shake the word from her mind. Pureblooded, pure_bred_. Like a dog.

Telling this boy that her name was indeed _muggle_ looked more and more like signing a death warrant. She didn't need her future classmates to treat her like mud - she's had enough of that already.

She was as much of a witch as they were.

"It's not my birth name. I'm an orphan," she lied and went back to her book. The best lies are often the simplest. A bad liar rambles, a good liar doesn't say much. This way there's more wiggle room.

When she heard footsteps leaving, the compartment the door slid shut suddenly, and seemingly on its own accord, nearly catching Draco Malfoy's hand in the frame.

Through the glass window of the door, Victoria threw the gaping boy a small smirk.

…

"SAVORGNAN, VICTORIA!"

The witch walked up to the rickety, old stool that sat in the center front of the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall - a stern-looking witch with a demeanor as tightly wound as tightly as the severe bun she sported - stood next to it, holding up a tattered hat.

The Sorting Hat.

She read about it, of course. It belonged to Godric Gryffindor, who spelled it to sort students into appropriate houses after the founders' death. Gryffindor himself prized bravery. Hufflepuff valued kindness, and Ravenclaw wit.

She could be all those things if it suited her purposes.

Which is why she knew, walking up to that stool, just like she knew she was a witch, that she would end up in Slytherin. The house of the ambitious and the cunning.

When the hat was placed on her head it fell over her eyes, obscuring her view of the Great Hall, and assaulting her nose with the smell of old leather.

"How curious…"

The hat spoke to her mind. It was unnerving, feeling a foreign presence in her head, where it most definitely shouldn't be.

The hat didn't speak after that, though she could feel it picking through her brain for a few more moments before it exited as abruptly as it appeared.

"SLYTHERIN!" the hat shouted aloud.

Victoria climbed off the stool and approached the table on the far right to a polite applause from her housemates. The other houses didn't join them.

She spotted Draco Malfoy close to the middle of the table. Knowing that this encounter could either make or break the next seven years of her life, Victoria considered the circumstances carefully.

Pureblood elitists like Malfoy truly believed in whatever nonsense they were taught from crib. When faced with someone who didn't fit their idea of power hierarchy — someone like her — they will be caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place.

She'll provide them with an out.

The witch took the seat directly across from Malfoy as his friends' gazes followed her like a school of hungry piranhas. She knew that look — they were weighing her, assessing the potential "threat". In fact, she was quite sure she had the same exact look on _her_ face.

They said nothing.

Whether it was her display of wandless magic, or something else she wasn't privy to, but Draco told them what _she_ told him. And it was exactly what _they_ wanted to hear.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:**

**I do not own Harry Potter - this fanfic is based on characters and situations created by J.K. Rowling. Potion ingredients and transfiguration topics come from Pottermore.**

**I'm in the middle of revising the first ten chapters, so new things are going to be popping up during February 2020.**

**Note: small details from the canon may change - nothing _too_ big though. I won't make Voldemort into a fluffy little bunny, for one thing. Hermione in my story is replaced with Victoria - which really is nothing to be worried about because Victoria has nearly all of the qualities that make people love Hermione. If you're into dark/grey/Slytherin Hermione this story is for you. **

**Just to make things clear, Victoria is not malicious, or even rude. She is just very flexible and adjusts to her situation in the way that works best. She wouldn't go around bullying random people. She will trade insults with the other Slytherins if gets them to realize that she is not some meek crybaby for them to pick on. After a while, she and the pureblood squad will become actual friends, and she will get them to think twice about their beliefs. It's a slow porocess, but an effective one. **

**The first year is going to be all character development and setting up events for the next six years, but I promise it will be worth the wait. Second year gets really interesting, and fourth year and onward are packed with action and a good amount of romance. I have the whole thing planned out:)**

**Salazara**

For their first day in class, the Slytherins skirted around Victoria like she was the plague.

From the moment she walked into Charms with a heavy book bag and a roll of fresh parchment they kept their distance, only following her with their eyes. It made her feel like a particularly interesting specimen squashed between two glass slides and studied under a microscope. She supposed that's exactly what she was to them.

Being the most opaque person she ever known - because, really, she had to be opaque to survive the scrutiny of muggle peers, parents, _a whole world of them__ every single day_ \- it didn't bother her half as much as it should've. It did, however, bother her to be so blatantly brushed off.

Everything changed in Potions.

They were put in groups of four and asked to prepare a Boil Cure Potion - and wasn't that a lot like a science class on the lab days - a simple concoction with instructions took up less than half a page. Luck must've been on her side, because it so happened that Victoria was assigned to work with Draco Malfoy, a tall boy named Theodore Nott, and a girl who constantly looked as though she just swallowed something sour. Victoria couldn't remember her name - P something.

"Since you where so _smart_ in Flitwick's class," "P" said in a shrill voice that was two octaves too high, crossing her arms, "Why don't you show us how it's done."

Victoria remained in her seat, looking at her nails as if they held the universe's greatest secrets.

"And take away the opportunity from _you_? I don't think I will ," she said, finally looking up at the three with a well-practiced expression of utter indifference.

"P" reddened, clearly not used to being treated with her own two witches stared each other down.

"Add finely powdered snake fangs," a quiet voice spoke, breaking the tension.

"What?" "P" asked, blinking quickly.

"Add finely powdered snake fangs. That's what the book says," Theodore repeated.

"And what does it say to do after that?" Victoria asked.

"Heat for ten seconds."

"And after that?"

The wizard looked at blankly and reached for his book. Victoria's hand shot out to stop him, landing on the book before his.

"Add a dash of flobberworm mucus, stir, add a little ginger root powder and stir again," she said. That caught their attention. "P" left her self-imposed trance in favor of staring at Victoria, and the wizards' eyes snapped to her suddenly. Hook, line, sinker. She was mean enough to keep them on their toes, but not so mean as to get them to hate her, and more than anything, she was useful. And Slytherins, no matter how bigoted, tolerated anything as long as it got them ahead.

...

Victoria was adding the final dashes to her perfect potion when something at the other side of the room - the _Gryffindor side_ \- exploded.

The Slytherin's heads turned to where the sound came from. A round-faced boy with a golden lion emblazoned on his robes, now stained with soot, was staring at what was left of his cauldron with the most comically confused expression. His friends - also Gryffindors, albeit in a slightly better shape stood a few feet away, glaring daggers at him.

The classroom erupted in laughter, while a very agitated Professor Snape attempted to clean up the mess.

"Have you seen the look on the Scarhead's face - speaking of the scar, there must've been brain trauma there - why else would he sit next to the Weasley filth?" Draco asked them as they went to their next class. After Victoria's snobby performance, he became much _friendlier_, as did the others, almost like it somehow proved her blood status.

Malfoy's obvious dislike for infamous Harry Potter stemmed from a blotched encounter on the train. While Victoria didn't know what happened exactly, she was sure it had something to do with the blond's ego and inability to keep his big, pureblood mouth shut.

"Gryffindor prefects on your right," she said, nodding toward two girls with red pins on their robes. Malfoy shut his mouth immediately. _Not so obtuse then._

As the four of them climbed down a staircase, it jolted suddenly, knocking them off their feet. Victoria, Theodore, and Pansy held on to the railing for their dear lives, but Malfoy - who stood smack in the center - wasn't so lucky.

An older Slytherin jogged down past them, looked from the three forms huddling by the rail to the boy sprawled on the floor, rubbing his side, and snickered, mumbling something that sounded a lot like "Idiot firsties".

...

A week after the accident Victoria sat in the front row of the Transfiguration classroom, her quills and parchment laid out in neat rows on the desk.

"Who can describe the Transfiguration Formula and tell me the variables it involves?" Professor McGonagall asked from the front of the room.

Several hands rose in the air.

"Ms. Savorgnan?"

"The Transfiguration Formula states that the intended transformation varies directly with bodyweight, viciousness, wand power, concentration, and the fifth, unknown, variable that depends on the object transformed, Professor," she quoted.

"Excellent. Five points to Slytherin," the Professor announced and began passing out matchsticks, "Your first practical task is to transform this match into a needle. A _metal_ needle," she added with a pointed look.

Victoria looked at the wooden stick on her desk, lying next to a completed stack of complicated notes and hesitated. As much as she wanted to use her wand, craved it even, this was for all intents and purposes, her first real spell.

But it couldn't be that different from what she did without, could it. It was just forcing her will on a _match_. She just had to _mean_ it.

With a small flick, a jab to the right, and an incantation in Latin, the match turned silver and pointy before her eyes. And it was _jarring_. Reading about magic, even watching McGonagall turn her desk into a pig their first lesson - it didn't come anywhere near to actually defying laws of nature herself.

She wondered if she'll ever get used to it. Did her housemates have the same problem, or were they too used to the spectacle to care?

But it felt so right. Like her wand was an extension of her, moving, living in the same moment she was. Victoria felt - physically felt - a surge of power rush through her arm and down into the wood.

And it was amazing.

...

Severus Snape never took much interest in the affairs of his house - Slytherins were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. For the most part, the house ruled itself, every year existing in a hierarchy that stood within another hierarchy within the school. He could count the number of times he had to meddle in his snakes' lives on one hand.

He knew that this year would be different.

Not only did he have to see Lily's eyes stare back at him from his school nemesis's face - the boy looked so much like his father, down to the tips of his messy hair it was uncanny - but he had to watch the youngest Potter act just like the dead Potter from his memories. _Just as attention seeking, just as rude, just as ready to gather a crowd around himself..._

With a deep inhale, Severus cleared his mind, putting up an impenetrable wall around _that_ particular set of memories.

Fate sure must've hated him, because to add to his troubles, there was the Savorgnan girl.

For someone who was eleven years old, she sure was intimidating. The little muggleborn - there had never been a Slytherin muggleborn before - came into his classroom bright and early, spine straight and head held high as she outmaneuvered not one, but _three_ blood elitists, with their own tricks. What lie convinced them to so much as tolerate her, Severus didn't know, but he was sure the girl used their prejudice against them.

And her eyes… they were like those of his Lord.

Not in that they appeared similar to the monster's blood-red gaze, no, but in the _thing_ swirling within depth of palest, crystalline greens and and silvery blues. Aside from the freak coloring - it was rare enough to have two colors in the iris, not to mention a whole kaleidoscope and that shade of green was too light and too bright to be natural, and stood out like a sore thumb - eye contact with her didn't aid legilimency. There could've been a wall between them, for how little help it was. Her mind wasn't impenetrable, of course, but she had markings of becoming a talented occlumens one day.

_Eyes never lie_, Dumbledore once told him.

But the witch was so normal otherwise. She was intelligent - the brightest student he ever had, honestly - but she wasn't a sociopath, or a psychopath, or held any other markers of being off in the head.

Arrogant? Yes. Mature? Yes. Crazy? No.

And there lay the root of this dilemma. She was normal, except she wasn't. Not one bit.

…

There was something off about Professor Quirrell.

The moment Victoria walked into her Defence Against the Dark Arts class, she could feel _it_, literally hanging over the man like a storm cloud. The very air around him was thin. She made a mental note of it, but hadn't reacted otherwise.

The lesson itself was a disappointment.

Aside from the suspicious thing hanging about and a foul-smelling turban, Quirrell was the most incompetent teacher she met so far. He stammered through the most boring lecture on_ household pests_ and assigned them an equally boring essay on how to get rid of the said creatures.

Though, she supposed, trusting them with something interesting would've been a terrible idea, seeing as the boy - Neville Longbottom - who blew up his cauldron (how he did it was a mystery) was there too, along with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley - the two Gryffindors who worked with him in potions.

…

"Give it back!"

Malfoy held Longbottom's Rememberball in his right hand, tossing it up every once in a while. In his left hand was a broom.

Slytherin and Gryffindor were lined up facing each other on an empty field, their flying practice broken up when the instructor left and Malfoy used the opportunity to pick a fight.

Potter, like a good Gryffindor, did the noble thing and positions between a red-faced Longbottom and a sneering Malfoy, playing right into the blond wizard's trap.

Victoria hovered three feet from the ground, perched upon a school-issue broom. She sighed, deciding to stop the show before the instructor got back and began taking away points.

"Certainly Longbottom can get his bearings back himself," she said as she plucked the Rememeberball from Malfoy, and threw it to the Gryffindor pyrotechnician.

"Catch!"

Of course he didn't.

"Stealing?" she hopped of the broom and commanded it to land on the ground. "Really?"

"I wasn't stealing," Malfoy insisted. "Why would I steal from Longbottom?" he scoffed.

"Yes, Draco, why? To annoy Potter? To show that you can? Is it that _easy_ to get under your skin?"

_"Oh, shut up!"_

…

Victoria loved the library at Hogwarts.

It was a magnificent structure, three floors tall, with tens of thousands of books lined up on hundreds of shelves.

The only hiccup was the librarian.

Her name was Madame Pince, and she never talked, or coughed, or sneezed, nor did she let anyone else in the library do so. If a student needed a book they'll have to sort through the shelves on their own, because Merlin forbid she so much as _points_ in the right direction.

So really it's no wonder why the library was so deserted.

Victoria quietly inched through the isles, when a small, leather bound tome caught her eye.

_"The Essential Dark Arts" by Rudolph Selwyn_

The witch quirked a brow. Dark arts were the proverbial elephant in the room — or rather, school — that no one had the nerve to address. Even her housemates, with their shady family histories, avoided the matter entirely. It wasn't too surprising - the wounds of the Wizarding War were still fresh, and bringing it up would not do anyone any good.

But.

First of all the idea of learning how to defend yourself from dark arts without knowing what they were was laughable. It was like reading in a language you didn't know - you can go through the motions, but you wouldn't understand anything. Second, there were no rules for what made a spell dark, but there was a set punishment for using them. Using dark magic in self defense was not the same as using it to deliberately hurt somebody. Thirdly, magic was about intent. It was not entirely outside the realm of possibility to use the most basic first-year charm to cause serious damage.

Hogwarts staff didn't share her beliefs.

And yet here was a book on dark arts, lying in the open. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together: someone left it there.

Victoria took the book of the shelf and, casting a glance at her surroundings, left to devour it inside one of the small, hidden library nook.

…

"Have you heard?"

They were in Charms, Victoria levitating her feather absent-mindedly when Malfoy slipped into the seat next to her, taking advantage of the havoc reigning in the classroom.

"Heard what? Could you be any more vague?" she asked, sassy as always.

"Potter got on the Quidditch team."

_That_ caught Victoria's attention.

"I thought first-years weren't allowed to play."

"We aren't. But Madam Hooch — The flying instructor," he added at Victoria's blank look, "told McGonagall about how _talented_ Saint Potter was."

Malfoy's tone made it clear that he didn't believe Potter to be talented at _anything_, much less Quidditch, "And next thing you know, she made him Seeker and bought the idiot a Nimbus 2000."

"A what?"

Malfoy sighed in exasperation. "A Nimbus 2000. The fastest broom on the market."

Huh. "That's… blatant favoritism - and they are the ones who are always complaining that Snape isn't fair."

Victoria stared at her feather for a moment, contemplating her position. She couldn't care less about the game, but her housemates did, and solving this issue could get her in her housemates' good graces like nothing else. Besides, winning the Quidditch Cup was half of winning the House Cup, which she obviously did care about, and unlike Draco she felt there was some weight to Hooch's statement about Harry Potter's talent.

There wasn't anything the witch could do about Potter being on the team. That particular decision was made by his head of the house. But, there was something else she could use — professors have no business buying their students brooms, and if the other Professors are against giving him an unfair advantage, the Nimbus would be confiscated for the year, and Potter would have to use one of the school brooms instead.

It was worth a try.

"Who's in charge of our team?" she asked.

Malfoy's eyebrows rose. "Marcus Flint. Why?"

"I need to talk to him. You volunteered to organize it for me," Victoria announced with a pointed jab of her wand that imbedded the feather she was levitating in the desk an inch away from Malfoy's hand.

**Reviews are appreciated!**

**Next chapter will have the troll-in-the-bathroom scene AND Voldemort's POV!**

**Salazara**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:**

**I do not own Harry Potter - this fanfic is based on characters and situations created by J.K. Rowling.**

It happened on the day of the Halloween feast.

She told Pansy that she would meet her in the Great Hall and made her way into the girls' bathroom, walking past Potter and a crowd of redheads that simply had to be Weasleys on her way there.

Victoria was washing a particularly stubborn ink stain off her hands - she really should look up a spell to prevent those - when she smelled something _foul_.

Hearing heavy footsteps outside the door had done nothing to reassure her.

Deciding not to take unnecessary chances - she was a Slytherin, damn it - Victoria crouched behind the sinks, ready to make a beeline for the door as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

Seeing a twelve-foot tall mountain troll waltz through the door made it clear that it _wouldn't_.

How, she wondered, did it enter the school? It wasn't a pixie for Merlin's sake! - how did no one in a place full of witches and wizards notice a _full-grown mountain troll_ come in?

Unless someone had let it in on purpose.

The witch was quickly and quietly crawling toward the exit, away from the troll, when she heard more footsteps outside the door - though these were far lighter than the ones before.

The door swung open with a _loud _bang and two boys stormed in, wands drawn.

_The-Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Live-Much-Longer-at-the-Rate-Things-Were-Going_ and his redheaded _moron _of a friend must've gathered from the murderous expression on her face that they had just made a big mistake.

The troll had noticed them.

For a second, the unlikely trio simply stared at each other, unmoving. Then, as the creature had swung its club at the row of sinks, Victoria leaped away from the porcelain shards, spurring the two boys into action.

The troll was a monstrous thing. Sure it was clumsy and stupid, but it made up for that it brute strength and sheer size. Its capability to wreak havoc was incredible, really, since in what must've been just one minute, it managed to corner her and the two boys - who were far more trouble than they were worth - at the far wall of the room, away from the door and the safety it promised. They had done a good job of avoiding the knife-sharp bits of wood and porcelain, at least.

The troll drew closer, it's heavy body within six feet of them, club held high and ready to bludgeon them to death.

Victoria's eyes flared with a deadly glow.

In a millisecond, the space between her and the creature erupted in a wall of white-green flames, startling, strong, and _perfectly controlled_.

Then she attacked. The entire force of her fire blasted into the troll, throwing it back into the opposite wall with a loud, inhuman yelp and a crack of bone against stone.

The whole thing took less than a second.

The two _idiot _Gryffindors looked at her with pure shock, while Victoria stared right back with the glare of someone who nearly _died _because of their stupidity.

A tremor went through her body.

Victoria leaned at the wall for support, but it passed as quickly as it came, and by the time the door swung open again, and Professors Snape, McGonagall, Quirrell, Flitwick, and Sprout stormed in, she was back on her feet.

Sprout gasped.

_Took them long enough._

…

It should've been perfect, the position he made for himself. Not only could he prowl the halls of Hogwarts for the first time since his own failed attempt to take up a position there, but he was also within an arm's reach of both Harry Potter _and _the Sorcerer's Stone.

Dumbledore suspected, of course - he _always _did, _but what can he do this time_?

It would've perfect, if not for Victoria bloody Savorgnan.

She was nothing and no one, a _mudblood_. But she was a Slytherin mudblood, and there never had been a Slytherin mudblood.

Of course everyone thought he was one too, once, so it wasn;t entirely impossible for Savorgnan to have secret heritage of her own.

There was only one flaw to this theory: she didn't.

In the past two centuries, as far as he could trace her family after they left Kyiv, there hadn't been a single witch, wizard, or squib in the bloodline.

Then there was her magic.

While its concentration and sheer power could be chalked up to self-control, discipline, and intelligence, the feel of it was another matter entirely. It was as different from everybody else's as a witch is different from a muggle.

For these reasons, Victoria Savorgnan didn't fit in with carefully laid plans. She was a wildcard. And Lord Voldemort _hated _wildcards.

…

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Ms. Savorgnan - what are you doing here?" Professor McGonagall asked "- Is that…" she stared at the dead troll, her voice rising an octave higher, "_What happened?"_

The professors lowered their wands almost simultaneously, except for Snape, who had come in last with a wound in his leg and blood soaking his robes.

He wasn't feast, Victoria realized. He wasn't at the feast when a troll had mysteriously appeared in the castle - but he could've been the one to let it in. It simply hadn't been long enough.

"_What happened here?"_ McGonagall asked again.

Potter looked like he wanted nothing more than for the floor to swallow him whole, Weasely's face turned the same color as hair, and Victoria pinned the two wizards with a glare so icy, it could've gotten hell to freeze over.

"We saw the troll come in and -" Potter began in a true Gryffindor fashion. "- and we thought…"

"You didn't think," Snape barked.

"We… " Weasley began defensively, but faltered when Victoria's glare somehow, impossibly, got colder. "... didn't think.

The two boys dropped their eyes to the floor.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall snapped, "I expected better from both of you."

"But what _happened_?" Sprout asked insistently, while her eyes kept straying to the dead troll.

Victoria's muscles gave a slight, barely noticeable tremble. Potter's eyes moved between her and the Professors, hesitating.

"Victoria," Weasley blurted out. "She did it."

"Did _what_?" Sprout asked, turning to face the witch as her colleagues followed suit.

"She -" he didn't get to finish. In that moment one last violent tremor went through Victoria's body and her knees gave out, and she fell onto the floor in a lifeless heap.

Through bleary eyes she heard McGonagall shout for Madame Pomfrey, and saw the older witch rush toward her, checking her pulse and firing off spells she didn't recognize, but assumed were diagnostic. Somebody forced a warm liquid down her throat, and she felt herself slipping down, down, down…

She woke up gasping for air.

The room she was in was long and white, with big windows to let in sunlight and fresh air. There were two rows of beds, neatly made. She occupied one of them.

"Ms. Savorgnan!"

Victoria turned her head toward the sound of her name. A middle aged witch in light robes was running toward her - this must've been Madame Pomfrey, the school mediwitch.

She was in the hospital wing.

"How long was I out for?" Victoria asked in raspy voice. Her mouth felt ridiculously dry.

As if reading her mind, Madame Pomfrey passed her a glass of water.

"Fifteen hours."

Victoria nearly chocked on her water. Seeing this, the mediwitch attempted to placate her.

"We gave you a dreamless sleep potion, dear. Professor Snape was worried you had internal injuries -"

Victoria barely contained a snort at the idea of Snape being _worried _about anything, much less her well being.

"- but it was just your body reacting to a sudden explosion of accidental magic and stress. You recovered pretty quickly, all things considered."

She didn't point out that it wasn't accidental, thank you very much, and that it was more likely that the effort of controlling that much power - after all, she hadn't exactly fought trolls before - took its toll.

"When can I go back to my dorm?" she asked instead.

The mediwitch pursed her lips, as if debating the answer. "Tomorrow morning if you feel well, but if there's anything wrong - a headache, or a fainting spell - some her _immediately_. I always told Albus - Professor Dumbledore, that is - that bedrest should be longer. But does anyone listen? No," she mumbled, more to herself than to her charge. "No, they don't. And with Quidditch, and these moving staircases, and now _mountain trolls_…" she trailed off, shaking her head.

Victoria used the silence to look around. There was a side table next to the bed, and on it were a pile of "Get Well" cards and a few bars of 100% cocoa dark chocolate.

Noticing where her gaze strayed to, Madame Pomfrey said: "Your friends stopped by after breakfast. Ms. Parkinson brought you letters," she nodded toward three envelopes lying next to her gifts, "And the Daily Prophet, of course."

"Now," she added, "I want you take this potion - just another dreamless sleep. I want to make sure you are _fully _rested by Monday. We really don't need anymore burnouts - it's bad enough as it is, with all the N.E.W.T. students coming in…"

...

Three days after her release from the Hospital Wing, Victoria was leaving the library shortly after curfew, when she ran - literally - into Harry Potter.

Weasley was there too, of course.

Before she could say anything to them, Victoria heard loud meow, followed by a fair amount of swearing coming from down the corridor.

Judging by the look on the two goons' faces, they heard it too.

Filch was somewhat of a legend in Slytherin. The man had an uncanny talent for catching rule-breakers, most of them Gryffindors, of course, meaning that the said house lost dozens of points _weekly_.

Salazar would roll over in his grave if one of his snakes stumbled into a trap like that.

Quickly, Victoria grabbed the two boys by their robes and _ran_. She would've gladly left them there for Filch to find, but leaving witnesses was a) stupid, b) a waste. She wouldn't mind them _owing _her. So, the three of them sped down the deserted hallways, the caretaker never too far behind. They were on the third floor when they came upon a dead-end, or more specifically, a locked door.

She pushed Weasley out of the way, lifted her wand, and whispered:

"Alohomora!"

The door opened with a quiet click. They quickly shuffled in, closing it behind them. Once inside, the witch blinked a few times, adjusting to the darkness of the room when she heard strange rumbling.

It took her a few seconds to identify where the noise came from.

After a few months of living at a wizarding boarding school, Victoria was used to seeing strange things. Ghosts, disappearing doors, owls, _magic _\- they didn't shock her.

This did.

Not sparing the two Gryffindors a look, she cracked the door open, unwilling to repeat her mountain troll experience with a _three-headed dog larger than her whole house_, and ran out, praying that Filch wasn't near enough to hear her.

"That was…"

"Horrifying, Weasley, we know. And not just horrifying in the sense that it exists, but also horrifying in the sense that the Headmaster _allowed _it there," she said.

"But why?" Potter asked her.

Victoria rolled her eyes. " It was sitting on a trapdoor. Two plus two..."

"Well, we were a bit busy staring at its _heads_!" Weasley argued. "And how did you go from a trapdoor to a conspiracy theory, anyway? Maybe it's just… there."

Victoria scoffed. "_Just there_?"

They were standing near the grand staircase, each unwilling to part and for their own dorms. The witch, on her part, wasn't leaving until she had all the answers.

"Do you know anyone who could be taking care of that creature - providing food and such?"

"Who would..?" Weasley began, before breaking off suddenly, "Hagrid!"

Potter stepped on his foot in warning, but it was too late.

"_Ouch_! What was that for?" the redhead grimaced, rubbing his foot and staring at his friend questioningly.

"For a loose tongue," Victoria said, voiced laced with amusement and left.

…

_Dear Victoria_

_We miss you so much! We know we've said it before, but still, we can't wait until the winter break to finally see you._

_Everything you taught us about your world is fascinating! We are so glad you have the chance to experience what it has to offer. Although we still think that owls are a somewhat unreliable method of communication, they do seem to get the job done. Emails would've been faster - though considering how often you checked those, it's up for debate._

_Anyways, we're glad you write to us so often - they do say that letters written by hand hold more meaning than the ones you see on screen._

_We are doing great, though our lives are far more boring than yours is. We are thinking of getting an owl - from a magical pet store preferably, as they seem to be easier to take care of and come trained._

_Love you always_

_Your parents_

…

"Malfoy. MALFOY!"

Victoria found the boy asleep in one of the Common Room chairs, a half-written Transfiguration essay in his lap.

"What time is it?" he asked, rubbing his eyes, awakened by her shouting and shaking his shoulder.

"Six in the morning."

Draco jolted.

"Salazar, this is due today," he said as he frantically began searching for his quill.

"You still have about two hours before breakfast starts," Victoria told him, yawning "Make the best of it."

"Why are you up anyway?" Draco asked, knowing that the witch was no morning bird.

"I was doing some extracurricular research," Victoria replied tartly. Draco rolled his eyes at the evasion and went back to his essay. A few moments later he let out a frustrated noise and threw his quill against the wall.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered. "How the hell am I supposed to know "_The transfiguration alphabet behind basic nonliving to living transfigurations_"?"

"Mhmm. I dunno, McGonagall only spent an hour explaining it last week," Victoria said. "_And_ it's on page 324."

Immediately Draco turned to the said page, spirits lifted. Indeed there was a summary paragraph crammed between descriptions of the incantation and the wand movement for the Avifors Spell, which they hadn't learned yet.

"Thanks," he mumbled, and began scribbling furiously, this time with a different quill. Victoria rolled her eyes at the boy and went to her dorm.

What she told Malfoy was "extracurricular research" was actually spying upon the gatekeeper's morning routine. Unfortunately it meant she had to stay up all night, waiting for the gigantic man to enter the castle. At three thirty, he did, carrying three pig carcasses with him.

She followed him far enough to see him enter the third floor corridor, confirming her suspicions.

But what was more interesting, was that he met both Flitwick and Sprout on his way there, and neither appeared surprised by _where _and _what _the bulky man carried.

So the professors were involved too.

As Victoria put on clean robes, brushed her teeth and began untangling her hair, she plotted her future encounter with the gatekeeper. It had to be inconspicuous, of course. And she had to get there before the Golden Boys, as she dubbed them.

Lunch. She would go there during lunch. There was no way in hell Weasley would keep himself from stuffing his maw full of food, and Potter wouldn't go anywhere without his sidekick.

Yes, she decided. This is exactly what she'll do.

**Reviews are (still) appreciated!**

**Next chapter will have some more plotting - a lot of plotting. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:**

**I don't own Harry Potter. This is based on characters and situations created by J.K. Rowling.**

Friday morning, right after Potions, Victoria walked across Hogwarts grounds, apple in hand, toward a stone hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. She put on her cloak to cover the tell-tale Slytherin crest embroidered on her school robes, and shoved her green-and-silver scarf into her bag as she approached the giant man busying around with a bucket.

"Good morning," she said, smiling her "good girl" smile. The groundkeeper turned around, visibly surprised to see her.

"Hullo. Erm, if yeh don't mind me asking who are yeh?" he said awkwardly.

"Oh, I'm Victoria. Victoria Savorgnan. I was researching the giant squid for my History of Magic essay — it's on Hogwarts, A History, you see, and I wanted to write about the lake, but the book doesn't talk about it much, and Ron Weasley told me you might know something," she said, stammering just enough to seem shy.

Hagrid the gatekeeper perked up at the name "Weasey".

"Ye're friends with Ron an' Harry?" he asked.

"We're classmates," Victoria answered innocently, "So, can you tell me about the squid?"

"Sure, sure," Hagrid said absentmindedly, setting down his bucket and ushering her inside his hut.

As soon as she entered, a humongous boarhound was on her, and it took Victoria several seconds to realize that it was trying to lick her face, not smother her, though it definitely felt like the later.

She looked in the dog's big hazel eyes and with one thought from her, it settled down on the floor.

"That's Fang," Hagrid said. "He doesn't bite."

_No, he swallows whole._

"Tea?"

"Yes, please," Victoria accepted politely as she took one of the oversized chairs and looked around curiously. The hut didn't appear huge, but she suspected it was the effect of overwhelmingly massive furniture crammed inside. There was a bed twice the size of her four-poster against the wall she assumed led to the bathroom and a kitchenette with counters she could fit under standing.]

"So yeh wanted to ask 'bout the squid?" Hagrid said as he handed her a large, bright cup.

"Yes," Victoria said, looking at the murky liquid doubtfully, "I thought maybe you know some fun facts."

Hagrid smoothed his beard thoughtfully. "Well 'e likes toast. Actually takes it from meh hands."

"Really?"

Hagrid nodded. "He's shy though. Doesn't trust strangers much - try throwing some toast into the water first, and he'll like yeh in no time. Rock cakes?" he added, gesturing to a plate laden with questionable grey lumps.

"Um, no, thank you. I'm full," she said, sipping her tea. To her surprise it actually tasted very nice, with a faint woodsy-flowery tang to it.

"Cherry branches?" Victoria guessed, remembering the concoction her grandmother made last time she was over two years ago. She loved being with her grandparents - the food was amazing, and they were always fun to just be with. It was a shame that they lived so far away - though it certainly made for fun trips, she really, really hated jet lag.

"Yes," Hagrid said enthusiastically, thus cutting off her train of thought. "And some peach branches too - I 'ave a small garden behind the house."

Victoria hummed in response. "I have a garden at home too. There were always lots of birds nesting in the trees in the summer. Are there any magical creatures around yours? I mean you live so close to the Forbidden Forest…" she trailed off, deeming it was time to get to business.

"Unicorns come near sometimes, but they're shy, yeh know, so they never stay long. I keep a few hippogryphs a little further out, jus' behind the pumpkin patch," Hagrid said. "Ever seen 'em, hippogryphs?"

"No I hadn't actually - do you keep any other creatures?"

"Not really, but tell yeh what," Hagrid leaned in, "I always wanted a dragon."

Victoria's eyebrows shot up. "But they are so dangerous. Have you ever kept an animal of that size?" she asked in genuine disbelief. A dragon. Honestly.

"Well… erm, not a dragon," Hagrid said, glancing away. _Just a three-headed dog._

"Oh, I can bring you a few books from the library - about dragons. If you want to know, of course."

Hagrid grinned widely. "Yes, sure. Thanks. Jus' don't tell anyone," he added, suddenly sober, "I already got an egg."

Victoria nearly spat her tea out.

…

"Are you Victoria Savorgnan?"

She turned her head and faced the source of all the disturbance. A girl with pigtails wearing Hufflepuff robes was holding a slip of parchment addressed to her name.

"Yes, I am" she answered, looking at the note in the other witch's hands. It was done in very loopy, very noticeable handwriting Victoria recognized as Dumbledore's.

"Thank you," she said as the Hufflepuff handed it to her. "I'm sorry - what's your name?"

"Oh, um, Hannah Abbot," the girl introduced herself, doing a very poor job of keeping surprise out of her voice.

"Nice to meet you," Victoria smiled and went back to her steak.

"What was that about?" Draco asked skeptically when Hannah was far enough not to overhear.

Victoria glanced up at him. "I'm feeling like being nice today," she said with a nonchalant shrug as she picked up her knife.

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "_Right_. You're not nice. Ever."

"Don't be so sure," Victoria told him. "It's not very Slytherin of you. Besides," she added, "It's terrible when the majority of people hate you. You have to constantly look over your shoulder."

"Is that how it was in the muggle world?"

Victoria's hand tightened on her knife ever so slightly. "Yes. _Yes_, that's how it was for me."

Draco didn't probe her again after that. When the bell rang, she picked up her bag and left, heading in the direction described in the note, and seven winding staircases later, she found herself in front with a stone gargoyle. When Victoria told it the password, - "Lemon Drops" - it jumped to the side rather suddenly, revealing _another_ spiral staircase. This one though, moved on its own. When she reached the landing, the heavy walnut door to the study was already open wide.

Dumbledore's office was a large circular room, lined with overflowing bookcases and curio cabinets, and little tables on which sat strange silver instruments she didn't recognize, but suspected were the Headmaster's own inventions. The wizard was, after all, the Da Vinci of the wizarding world.

But what truly caught her eye was a flaming-red phoenix. Phoenixes were extremely rare, and for all the strange things she saw over the past three months a mythical bird quite literally as old as time definitely stood out.

But it wasn't just its apparent beauty or novelty - it was the magic. She had no words to describe it.

"Take a seat, Ms. Savorgnan."

She did, reluctantly tearing her attention away from the phoenix to focus on Dumbledore.

"How are your studies going?" the Headmaster asked.

"Good, sir," Victoria replied curtly and shifted in her seat a little.

"Are there any subjects you particularly enjoy? I don't mean to bother, of course, but I'm afraid these meetings with muggleborn students are mandatory. I'm sorry if it's inconvenient."

"It's fine, sir, really," Victoria said. "I like all the subjects here, but I think transfiguration and potions are my favorite."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Indeed? Though I shouldn't be surprized, Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape are both very impressed with you."

And then, suddenly and for no apparent reason, it felt as though her skull was being split in two.

With a cry, she curled into herself, cradling her head as though she could physically hold it together. Briefly, somewhere in a corner of her mind, she thought, _Merlin, I must be going insane_.

It only lasted a second. The pain stopped as suddenly as it came, and Victoria found herself looking into the crystal blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore.

"Are you all right, Ms. Savorgnan? he asked, concerned.

"I'm… I had this headache… I'm sure it's nothing..." Victoria said quietly.

"Are you sure. Maybe you should ask Madam Pomfrey for a Pepper Up Potion?"

"I'm fine."

The phoenix left its perch with a sharp, angry cry that was directed at _Dumbledore_, unfolding its graceful wings in flight as it circled the room before landing in her lap. A brief look of surprise ghosted over the Headmaster's face.

"Fawkes seems very fond of you," he finally said. "Phoenixes are _excellent_ judges of character."

She didn't respond.

"Is there anything you wish to tell me, Ms. Savorgnan?"

"No," she answered blatantly, "but there is something I would like to ask. What do you know about Professor Quirrell?"

"I don't presume myself to know anything you might find of interest," the Headmaster said after a long pause.

Victoria ran her finger down Fawkes's head. "But you suspect it nonetheless?"

"Oh, I suspect a lot of things. Thankfully, most of them are mere products of an old man's mind…"

…

After her little meeting with Dumbledore, Victoria, to no one's surprise, quite literally barricaded herself in the library and thought about what the wizard told her, or more precisely, what he _didn't_.

When she got back from the Hospital Wing, the first thing she asked her friends about was if any of the professors missed the feast. And wouldn't you know it, Quirrel stormed into the Great Hall ten minutes too late, screaming that a troll broke into the school, after which he fainted, and no one's seen him until he entered the bathroom.

She read more about trolls in the next week than she ever though she'd have to, and it was clear as day that there was no way for it to break in on it's own. Not only that, it had to have come from inside the castle, because otherwise the wards around Hogwarts would've surely alerted the staff.

Which means that the troll, just like the three-headed dog, were guarding something. What that something was, and what on earth did Quirrell have to do with it, was a question she had no answers to.

So, after twenty-minutes of mulling over the dilemma, she decided to leave it be for the time being and left to get a book for some light reading.

And that was how she learned about Animagi.

…

When Ron and Harry went to visit Hagrid that Friday, the first thing Harry saw was Victoria Savorgnan, chatting cheerfully with the gatekeeper, sipping tea from a polka dot painted cup, an untouched plate of rock cakes sitting on the table in front of her.

He and Ron looked at each other, baffled.

"What is she doing here?" Ron asked, his distaste for the witch clear in his voice.

Victoria smiled at him politely, though to the Gryffindor it felt more like mocking - and, well, it _was_ mocking. His ears grew red, and the witch's smile grew a tiny bit wider.

Had her canines always been that sharp?

"Hullo, Harry, Ron," Hagrid greeted. "Victoria just stopped by to… er, drop off a book."

"I was just about to leave actually," the witch said, still smiling sweetly, as she rose from her chair. "Thanks for the tea, Hagrid — if you ever need anything else let me know."

"What was that about?" Ron asked quietly after the Slytherin left.

"Dunno."

…

After Victoria brought Hagrid _"Dragon Breeding Intermediate"_, she promptly and rather blatantly told him that she knew about the three-headed dog, whom he named _Fluffy_ like it was a bloody house cat, and she finally had an inkling of what was going on.

_It's between Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel_, he told her.

But she didn't expect that this one name will lead to even more questions. Because as Victoria found in a thick, dully written History of Magic book, _Nicholas Flamel is a medieval alchemist, most known for creating the Sorcerer's Stone, a powerful magical artifact that can turn any metal into gold and produce the elixir of life._

_Is_, not _was_.

No wonder Quirrell wanted the Stone. Except something didn't add up. Dumbledore suspected Quirrell, but didn't fire him. And for that matter, if he truly wanted to hide the Stone, why didn't he just keep it in his pocket, where no muggle or wizard will be able to reach it? Why make… what, an _obstacle course_?

She was missing a piece of the puzzle. And whatever it was, it was the root of the mystery.

**Reviews are welcome! (who would've guessed :)**

**Thank you, everyone who wrote reviews!**

**Salazara**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:**

**I don't own Harry Potter.**

She was reading a book on Animagi, sitting in the same compartment as her Slytherin friends, even as her thoughts straying to the upcoming two weeks. While her pureblood housemates chattered on and on about magical Yule parties, Victoria couldn't help but dread the holiday season. She could try to perform wandless magic, but she would still be cut off from her world. Somehow, in the four months she spent in Hogwarts, she began to think of the ancient castle, with its dark, emerald-clad underwater dorms as her _home_. It would be strange, she mused, to be surrounded by things she knew so well, but couldn't relate to anymore.

Victoria turned her attention back on the text:

"_The process to complete one's transition into an animagus is composed of two parts. The first being, of course, the blood ritual to "reveal" one's form. All animagi have been known to only have one form, and no matter the form, some distinguishing features of the wizard will be reflected in the transformation. The ritual must be completed on the night of the full moon. It is the easiest part of the transformation. The form will be recognized by one's magic, however, one will not actually know their form before they complete the third step. This is similar to Patronus Charm, where the caster's magic "knows" the shape of the spell before the caster successfully performs it. Contrary to popular belief, one's Patronus and Animagus shape are not always the same, as while a wizard's or witch's Patronus may change due to emotional upheaval, their animagi form will not. It is worth noting that the ability to perform a Patronus is not determinative for a successful transformation."_

"'Toria? Are you there?"

"Not my name," she said flatly, without looking up, and turned to the next page.

Blaize sighed loudly and took the book out of her hands. "We've been here for an hour. _An hour!_ What's so interesting in this thing anyway?"

Victoria ripped the tome back, jerking Blaize forward with the force of it. "Plenty of things," she said, shutting it with a regretful look. But this was her last chance to talk to someone her age who didn't think her crazy, while she had weeks to read.

"What are your plans for the break?" Draco asked. The chatter in the compartment quited immediately, which promised nothing good.

"What about them?" she asked calmly. _Too _calmly.

"You live with muggles."

"So?"

"So? What are going to do? Do muggles even celebrate Christmas?"

Victoria, with her raised eyebrows and a condescending smirk on her lips, was a picture-perfect Slytherin. "Yes, Draco. They do," she said, leaning back a little to give off a false air of ease. "And just what do you propose I do about it?"

"Well, you're always welcome at Malfoy Manor," Draco said, thinking maybe that he was being kind to the _poor, orphaned, little Victoria_, who in her turn huffed a small laugh. If he knew who she really was, she imagined the conversation would've gone differently. More likely, it wouldn't have happened at all, because they wouldn't be in the same compartment to begin with.

"Thanks for the offer, but _no_. I don't want pity."

Daphne Greengrass, a quite and somewhat shy girl, bit her lip nervously. "You know - we really want you to come. You're our friend, and friends stick together. We're just… worried."

Victoria didn't expect this. She blinked dumbly, opening her mouth for a moment as if to say something, before shutting it in a spell of weakness. "I… thanks. Really. For inviting me, and for not turning away when I get all defensive. _Thank you._"

Daphne bounded over and hugged her. "See. You _do _have feelings," she said, and Victoria gasp in mock horror. "Now, do us all a favor and relax. Don't stress - you need this break."

The other girl was right. She had way too much on her mind lately and she had to get a day to herself, do nothing, and just... live. Sleep in, paint something, go for a walk. As fun as Hogwarts was, there were some things she gave up for it, and those things, big and small, were still important to her.

…

Her parents greeted her on the muggle side of the barrier separating platform nine and three-quarters from the muggle King's Cross. Thankfully, it had been easy enough to slip away unnoticed in the crowd of students and their families. Almost everyone left Hogwarts for the break.

"Victoria!" her mother squealed and rushed toward her, enveloping her in a hug, and almost crying. Her father followed her at a more dignified pace, smiling as he joined them.

"I missed you both so much," Victoria whispered, squeezing the two with all the strength she had in her eleven year old body. This only served to make her mother to cry more, and so she and her dad spent at least five minutes trying to calm the most emotional member of the family down. Victoria had her father's personality, down the things she liked, and they both doted on her kind, smart, amazing mother. If she were a witch, Paulina Savorgnan would've been a Ravenclaw.

The family of three filled their ride home with conversation. Her parents were telling her what they did at work, where they traveled, how beautifully they decorated the home, while Victoria relayed every little thing about the castle and its inhabitants, human and not.

But once she arrived home, the witch was acutely reminded that she didn't really belong there. Oh, it was her house, sure enough, but it didn't feel like her home anymore. The pictures didn't move, the cutlery wasn't goblin made silver, there were no ghosts, no Quidditch talk (though that was rather a good thing), and no magic.

But also, she didn't have to share a dorm with four other people. Didn't have to use communal bathrooms. Didn't have to follow schedule.

Maybe, it wasn't home, but it was _hers_.

…

Two days after her arrival she was rudely awoken at nine thirty in the morning — _who even wakes up at nine thirty during break_ — by a large eagle owl tapping insistently on her window. Personally, Victoria thought it was a miracle that it didn't crack the glass yet.

Half-blind, she clumsily put on a fluffy robe and unhooked the latch, shivering at the gust of cold air as she let the impatient bird in. Outside it was cloudy, and a dusting of white covered the lawn.

The owl perched on her desk, sticking out its leg and hooting angrily, clearly put out with her for keeping it waiting in the cold. As she reached for the tied envelope, the bird made a move to peck her, and Victoria quickly snatched her hand away.

_Stop it_, she thought, staring into its eyes.

Once the owl was placated, Victoria removed the letter from its grasp, and scratched its head gently.

"Thank you. I don't have any owl treats, but if you don't mind mince pie…"

The owl didn't mind. Victoria laughed as it nibbled on a slice, while she tore open the envelope.

There was a seal in the upper left corner, and up close, she could make out the words inscribed in silver: _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper._

_Purity Will Always Conquer._

Dear Merlin. Malfoy's really didn't do things halfway, did they?

Shaking her head, the witch began reading.

_Victoria,_

_Theo and Blaise are staying at the mansion with my family. This year we are hosting the Yule Night, so it's a hectic nightmare here. Mother keeps us all on our toes._

_In regards to Yule: Pansy just arrived an hour ago (her mother and my mother are best friends) and she's been going on and on about how she can't choose which robes to wear. She was badgering us since she stepped foot inside, so be prepared. She's writing to you as you're reading this._

_Also, could you please send me your Transfiguration essay? I just want to make sure I got all the points, and you do, after all, have the highest grade in our year._

_Draco Lucius Malfoy_

That had to be the most pathetic attempt at manipulation she's ever been witness to. Why the Sorting Hat put him in Slytherin, when the boy had about as much cunning as a boulder, she had no idea. While he was far from stupid, his arrogance often got in the way of common sense.

_Draco,_

_Thank you for the warning. It was very selfless of you._

_As you can probably tell, I'm being sarcastic. You won't get that essay. Figure it out yourself._

_You don't know it yet, but I just did you a huge favor. Payment is accepted in form of books, books, and more books._

_Victoria Savorgnan_

She sealed the letter in a plain envelope and handed it to the owl, keeping the window unlocked.

Sure enough, another owl came not thirty minutes later, carrying a monstrous stack of magazines, along with a letter containing Pansy's near-hysterical whines, because you see, she didn't have enough clothes in her wardrobe to choose from, poor thing.

After more eye rolls than she'll ever admit to doing in such a short time, Victoria picked out the robe she liked the most, and sent a long and utterly meaningless response back to Pansy.

…

Christmas morning found Victoria rubbing her eyes tiredly in her bed, having been woken up by her far-too-perky for eight a.m. mum just a minute prior.

Only after a loud shout of "Sunshine!" came from downstairs, she pulled herself off the bed with slurred "Coming".

When she actually got there and saw _what _was lying under the tree, Victoria thought she might drop dead on spot.

By the looks of it, her parents weren't too far off.

"Wow. That's just… _Wow_."

At least a dozen wrapped boxes of different shapes and sizes, all addressed to her, were stacked in neat little piles, a letter lying on top of each.

They were from Draco, Theodore, Blaise, Pansy, and Daphne.

While her parents presented her with three silk robes and two fur-lined cloaks they got from Diagon Alley - she could only imagine the effort they put in to get their without her - the Slytherins gave her magic.

Malfoy, showing a surprisingly thoughtful side of himself, sent her a book. She could barely keep her hands off "The Structure of Magic: First Edition".

It was considered dark, and was expensive as hell, seeing as it lay the foundation for modern magic and led to the creation of three Unforgivable Curses. So naturally, the Malfoy library had a copy.

The tome dated back four centuries, but what she suspected to be a number of preservation charms had kept it in pristine condition. She squealed when she opened it - actually _squealed_, like Pansy did when she tried a new hair charm, except that her version sounded slightly less like a dying chicken.

Theo, Merlin bless him, sent her a dagger for rune carving, which sent her into a second bout of excited frenzy. Although runes were only taught from third year, Victoria had already dabbled in a few things. Judging by how _that _went, proper equipment was indeed necessary.

Like Draco, Daphne had also given her a book - a very different kind of book. It was titled simply "Mannerisms and Customs" and it was a god-send. She had a feeling that navigating the rabbit hole that is wizarding society would only get harder as the years progressed, and she had to stay on par with her housemates, because she did not do mediocre. Not in a million years.

Pansy sent her hairpins. So many hairpins in fact, that Victoria could cover every single inch of her hair with massive stones and pearls that the things were set with. Their weight made it clear that they were real - not that anything less could be expected from a Parkinson. Absolutely not.

…

"- Snape has to - Oh!"

Victoria arched one eyebrow gracefully. "Don't mind me. I won't talk. Right, Weasley?" she said, mocking the Gryffindor's slip about Hagrid. Though Ronald was far from bright, he was capable enough to see it, because almost immediately his face turned a peculiar shade of red that made it hard to tell where his hair ended and his face began.

Their paths crossed in the corridor of the Hogwarts Express, when Victoria overheard their ridiculous conversation about _Snape _attempting to steal _whatever Fluffy guarded_, and inserted herself in their path.

"Look, Savorgnan - can you just get out of the way?" Potter said, a half-formed sneer on his lips.

Victoria smiled. "Why? It's so entertaining to see you bristle."

Ronald said something under his breath that sounded a lot like "_that bloody snake"_.

"How did you deduce that - I'm impressed. No, really. It must've been such an accomplishment for you," Victoria said, because truly, it was entertaining.

"Can't you bother someone else?" Potter asked, exasperated. "Leave us be."

To the surprise of everyone involved, Victoria stepped aside and gestured for them to go forward in a parody of politeness. But as Harry was walking past her, she grabbed the sleeve of his robe in a vice-like grip and added: "If you ever start wondering what lays on the other side of that trapdoor… don't hesitate to ask."

Behind his glasses, the Gryffindor's eyes widened.

…

"What did she want?" Ron asked when the blonde Slytherin with her sharp tongue was far enough not overhear.

Harry was silent for a moment, muling over the strange encounter, before his brain caught up with the times. "She said she knew what's hidden under the trapdoor,"he said. It sounded ridiculous to his own ears.

Ron, apparently, shared the sentiment, because he snorted loudly. "She's lying. How in Merlin's name would she know?"

"I don't think she was lying."

"What?" Ron exclaimed. "She's a Slytherin. That's what Slytherins do - lie. She lied, Harry. There's no way she could've known."

"Think about it," the other boy pressed. "She can make people talk. Make them like her. All the teachers adore her, all the students think that she's just so sweet and helpful. When she was talking to Hagrid - she was fishing for information. Why else would she be there? For tea and rock cakes?"

"So… she knows," Ron shook his head. "But why did she try to help you?"

Harry stared off into distance. "I don't know."

…

When Victoria first began mapping Quirrell's whole life - where he was born, where he lived, where he traveled, everything she could from the publicized Ministry records and a few odd articles, she had no idea what she was looking for. But then a pattern appeared.

Everywhere he traveled before Albania was clean. After Albania, there was nothing. He still traveled - he _said _he still traveled, but he did it without the Ministry's notice, and the only mention of him from that point on was when he came to Britain a year ago.

It wasn't like the Ministry of Magic could track where and when everyone went, no. But they did have solid policies regarding international travel. And those were monitored, and they were mentioned in wizarding profiles.

What happened in Albania that made Quirrell stop traveling?

Rubbing her hands over her face, the witch looked out of the window tiredly, noting that it was sunset already. The library was deserted, as always. Dinner would start in less than hour - she should probably go and stop wasting time. If Dumbledore knows what's going on, they'll be fine. It shouldn't bother her.

But it did, and although Victoria couldn't explain why, but she felt that she had to know.

A sudden motion in her peripheral vision caught her attention. There, right in front of the window, soared a magnificent flaming red phoenix. _Dumbledore's _phoenix.

"Fawkes?"

Victoria hastily opened the latch and let the bird in. He immediately landed on her lap, dropping a small parcel in her hands, and to her shock, began nuzzling her cheek in an affectionate and somewhat unnerving manner.

The witch sat as stiff as a board. Slowly, as not to alert him, she raised her hands and tried to push the feathery mass away to no avail. The phoenix wouldn't bulge.

Momentarily switching her attention to the parcel, Victoria opened it awkwardly, seeing as she couldn't quite get her hands on it with Fawkes in the way. Inside was a vial of what she imagined diamonds would look like if they were liquid.

_Phoenix tears._

As if responding to her thoughts, Fawkes crooned quietly. Victoria slowly raised her hand again, this time bringing in plain sight, as if to ask for permission. The phoenix rubbed his head against her open palm, and she pet him gently with her thumb.

"_Thank you."_

…

**Any guesses as to what Victoria's animagus form will be?**

**Please review. I know you're probably sick of seeing that phrase under every chapter of every fanfic, but it's there for a reason. Nothing motivates like reviews.**

**Salazara**


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note:

I don't own Harry Potter. This work is based on characters and situations created by J. K. Rowling. This chapter uses a quote from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, which I also don't own.

I know that Victoria seems impossibly powerful, but then so does Voldemort, Dumbledore, Merlin, etc. It's nice to have a powerful female character for a change. Her instincts are a different story. I assure you, there is a logical explanation for them, and it will be revealed later.

Thanks for reading!

Salazara

Her nightly escapades to the orchard behind Hagrid's hut, which was far enough from the Forbidden Forest for her to stay safe, and far enough from the castle for her to stay unnoticed as she practiced spells and prepared for the animagi ritual, weren't doing her any favors. Sneaking out every sunset and sunrise, and spending hours in between practicing, combined with homework and extracurricular research, was getting to her, and she could only go so long by dozing off in History of Magic.

One breakfast a small parcel wrapped in plain brown paper dropped in front of her, barely avoiding a bowl of oatmeal, but somehow managing to knock down her morning coffee straight into Malfoy's lap.

Apologizing to the blond boy, Victoria tore apart the wrapping to reveal a book on Defense she ordered from Flourish and Blotts a week ago.

Needless to say, she completely forgot ever doing so.

Victoria left the Great Hall a little early, hoping to get a breath of fresh air before class starts. But once she got far enough from the noise of three-hundred-something students, she became aware that someone was following her. Flicking open a silver knife (which conveniently functioned as a compact mirror), the witch caught a glimpse of vivid red in the shiny metal.

It was Potter and Weasley, coming to get some answers. Victoria could bet that the expression on her face greatly resembled a cat that caught a particularly fat mouse.

She led her pursuers to the Trophy Room, counting on it being always open, and too uninteresting for anyone to walk in on them, especially before class started. With a small nudge from her, the doors opened. She was the first to step through, and immediately she dove to the side, pressing herself flat against the wall.

Potter and Weasley entered a moment later. "Where is she?" the redhead asked, looking around but not behind.

Victoria cleared her throat daintily, causing the two Gryffindors to nearly jump out of their skins.

Her arms were folded across her chest and her head was cocked to the side as she tapped the wand she held loosely in her right hand against her thigh.

The boys both had their wands out as well, though what they were going to do with them she had no idea, since it was highly unlikely wither of them was capable of much more than shooting sparks.

Potter and Weasley shared a look. "We wanted to ask you something," Harry said earnestly.

Victoria said nothing.

Harry scratched his head nervously. "Right. Erm, you said you knew what Fluffy was guarding, and…"

"You're stuttering worse than Quirrell," Victoria said, pushing herself off the wall. "I'll tell you."

"What's the catch?"

"No catch," Victoria said, though the smile on her face promised nothing good.

"So… what is it?"

"More defenses, I suppose," she said, her voice bored. "And the Sorcerer's Stone."

"What's the Sorcerer's Stone?"

"A powerful magical object that can turn lead into gold, and save a person on the brink of death."

If she left out the immortality bit… well, they didn't need to know.

…

"No."

"She won't let you be. Why are you so adamant about this anyway? It's not like your muggles will be in the country."

Victoria bit her tongue. Her parents were on a business trip in California, and she was going to stay at Hogwarts for the break. 'Was" being the key word. Narcissa Malfoy made true on her promise to invite her to the Malfoy Manor, and as Draco pointed out, she wouldn't leave her be.

"Fine. On one condition - I get to use your library."

Draco slumped with relief. "Thank Merlin. I swear Mother drove me mad with 'Victoria this' and 'Victoria that'."

"You poor thing. Do you need a hanky?"

Draco's face turned an unusual shade of pink. "Oi, shut up," he mumbled, pushing his breakfast around.

Victoria chuckled.

The Malfoys, and the rest of her housemates, really, were under the impression that she didn't quite get along with her family. It was convenient, seeing as there was an unspoken agreement not to mention them, which meant that there was no way to find out her parentage without accessing ministerial files.

She had a backup story ready, of course, in case that does happen. It would be foolish to believe otherwise.

When Easter break came, she was in a full panic-mode. She changed her robes three times (the first set was too simple, and the second looked like she was trying too hard), brushed her hair until her arm hurt, and even put it in an elegant half-up-half-down.

"Remember: breakfast in the informal dining room at ten, lunch is in the sitting room at two, dinner in the third formal dining room at six. Tea at four, also in the sitting room" Draco lectured when they were aboard the Hogwarts Express.

Victoria blinked slowly. "The third formal dining room?"

"The first one is for parties, and the second is being remodeled," Draco shrugged. "Also, the lighting in the second the most beautiful around sunset."

Victoria was tempted to ask just what in the universe the Malfoys needed three dining rooms for, but she really didn't want to hear the answer. They were rich, and while Victoria's family was far from poor, it nowhere near the sums her housemates had in their vaults. They were, for all intents and purposes, the wizarding equivalent of royalty.

Once she saw a diamond pendant in the window of a jewelry store. It was neat, just one pinky-nail sized diamond on an eighteen carat white gold chain, and it wouldn't have caught her eye if it wasn't priced at 50000 pounds.

That day she promised to herself that one day she'll be so rich she could by it with no regret, like it was any other bauble. It's not the she wanted this pendant specifically, no. But it would mean she earned it. It would be a symbol of how far she got.

Well Malfoys, at some point in history had accomplished it, and their wealth only grew with each generation. They were the richest family in wizarding Britain, and Salazar, it showed.

Victoria and Draco were greeted at King's Cross by Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy had long platinum blond hair tied back with an honest-to-god velvet bow, and the equally blonde Mrs. Malfoy had hers in an elaborate updo. Their robes were the finest she ever laid eyes on.

After some formal introductions, where the Malfoys insisted she called them Narcissa and Lucius, and she, in return, insisted they call her Victoria, the four left the platform. But not through the exit she expected or even knew about.

Of course for a prestigious, pureblooded family, walking through the rowdy crowds of muggle King's Cross must be a nightmare so absurd it barely crossed their minds, though to be fair, it would take one very crazy person, magical or not, to actually want to have anything to do with the said crowd when their is a lovely, quiet way to leave.

Side-along apparation.

Lucius held out his arm for Draco to take, and Narcissa had done the same with Victoria, and just like that, the floor was spinning from under her feet, her whole body was being contacted and squeezed through a too-small space.

It felt much longer than a second for them to reappear in front of a massive set of iron gates. Victoria held in a strangled gasp, shutting her eyes against the building nausea.

"Are you alright, dear?" Narcissa asked, concerned. "Side-along apparation can be quiet jarring. Especially if you're new to it."

"I'm fine. A little disoriented," Merlin, that was an understatement. "But fine."

The muscles in her legs turned to jelly; they shook as she walked, but at least she wasn't about to vomit anymore.

Lucius grasped the snake-shaped head of his cane and pulled out his wand from it, tapping it on the gate once before it swung open, allowing them to step through. Victoria felt the pressure of the wards pass over her for a moment. There must've been dozens of them.

Draco gave her an odd look of relief that would've thrown her off had she not been so preoccupied with the view.

There was a long path leading to a stately Elizabethian manor house, four floors tall, built of greenish gneiss, more glass than wall. It was symmetrical, with several towers flanking the facade on either side. The path was lined with mazes formed from hedges of wild white roses, and on the perfectly trimmed lawn she could spot several albino peacocks.

The Malfoy crest was proudly etched into the stone above the grand set of double doors.

"Welcome to Malfoy Manor, Victoria," Narcissa said, gesturing for her to enter.

The muggleborn made a conscious effort not to stare. The exterior took her breath away, and the interior did nothing to lessen the effect.

It was beautiful.

A wide marble staircase was the focal point of the room. The walls were dark green, covered with silk instead of paper, and the floors were a dark mahogany, intricately patterned. But it didn't feel dark, courtsey of the humongous windows and a large crystal chandelier.

Narcissa took her hand. "Come, I'll give you a toor."

…

"Young Miss should wake up now."

Mumbling something incoherent under her breath, Victoria opened her eyes to a pair of tennis-ball-sized ones. A shriek left her lips, even as she scooted off the bed as fast as she could in her sleepy state and grabbed her wand from her bedside table, pointing it at the source of all disturbance: a tiny, wrinkled creature with an oversized nose and ears that reminded her of bat wings.

"Tippy is so sorry Miss! Tippy is here to get Miss ready for breakfast!"

What the hell was this thing?

Mouth agape, Victoria stared at the three-foot-tall demon-like creature as it began banging its head on her dresser and wailing loudly.

The wizarding world never failed to surprise her.

Shaking herself out of her stupor, the witch pulled the little monster a safe distance away from any furniture.

"Tippy must punish herself! Tippy is a bad house-elf!"

Looking at the screeching creature writhing in her arms, Victoria found herself at loss of what to do.

"Erm, Tippy, right?" isn't that a wonderful conversation starter "Calm down, please. And stop fighting me."

The elf immediately did as she was told, the sobs growing quieter and fewer between. Victoria could almost hear her jaw hit the floor.

"Tippy, what are you doing here exactly?"

The house-elf gave a loud, wet sniff. "Tippy came here to wake Young Miss. Tippy didn't mean to scare Young Miss. Mistress asked Tippy to tell Young Miss that breakfast starts in an hour."

Victoria opened and closed her mouth a few times before settling on: "So you are a servant? You work for the Malfoys?"

"Tippy is a house-elf, Miss. Tippy does what Master and Mistress tells her to do."

Confused and itching to get out of the predicament as fast as possible, Victoria told the elf she will get ready for breakfast, and that he should leave.

"Miss can call for Tippy if she wants something," Tippy said, bowing so deeply that the tips of her ears touched the floor. "Miss is very kind."

With a loud CRACK, he disappeared, leaving a bemused Victoria behind.

…

An hour later she was in the informal dining room as per Draco's instructions, greeting the elder Malfoys with a smile she normally reserved for teachers.

The table - which could sit at least twelve people - was set with delicate sliver plates and goblets (goblin-made, she bet), complete with many different spoons, forks, and knives. She silently thanked her dad for making her use every single one of those on daily basis.

"So Victoria," Narcissa began when she was almost finished with her meal - salmon with rice and deviled quail eggs. "What do you think about going to Diagon Alley today?"

"I think it's a wonderful idea," the younger witch said, setting down her fork. Being close with a Malfoy is always a wonderful idea.

Narcissa beamed. "Excellent!"

And to Diagon Alley they went. Side-along apparation wasn't so bad this time, perhaps because she knew what to expect, but the weakness in her muscles took just as long to wear off. Cautiously releasing her grip on Narcissa's hand - she really didn't want to fall on her face - Victoria looked around the street, which with it being a Sunday, was already crowded with witches and wizards hurrying from shop to shop, including a plump red-haired woman who was yelling at a vendor and waving her hands in the air wildly.

" - you can't sell them that. They nearly blew up the house! I swear Mundungus, if you do something like this one more time -"

"Molly Weasley. Well-mannered as always," Narcissa said, seeing where her gaze strayed. How the other witch heard her, being ten feet away and screaming like she did, Victoria had no idea, but the Weasley matriarch's wrath suddenly changed its direction.

"Black," she sneered, her nose wrinkling in distaste.

"Prewett," Narcissa replied, a falsely-polite smile on her face speaking volumes.

The two witches glared at each other, making no effort to hide their animosity as they walked in opposite directions. Narcissa sighed sharply, muttering something unsavory about the other woman under her breath, before remembering that she had company.

"I apologize for that. I'm sure you noticed our families… don't get along."

Victoria, unsure of how to reply, nodded, giving the Malfoy a sympathetic smile.

Narcissa leaned toward her ear conspiratorially. "There a wonderful little place down the street. Eugenia Zabini owns a chain of salons, but if you really want the best quality work done, you have to go directly to her cosmetologist, hairstylist, nail artist - Ingrid is all of those."

With a nudge, Narcissa pushed the girl toward a neat little building with no signs marking it as anything other than an apartment.

They entered, the door swinging open on its own accord to admit them into a well-lit parlor. The walls were white wainscotting, and the floors were light wood, the furniture clad in matching tones of ivory.

"Cissy!" a voice exclaimed, and a petite witch with a short black bob flew at the much taller Malfoy, hugging her. "I've missed you - and who is this?" she asked, pulling away and grinning widely at Victoria. Her face was perfect, save for a long, protruding scar crossing the left side of her face and barely missing her warm hazel eye. Somehow, it made her even more beautiful. "No, don't tell me. You have a younger sister."

Narcissa burst out laughing. With their golden hair and light eyes, the two witches did look similar, though not enough to seem related. "This Victoria Savorgnan. She's Draco's housemate."

Ingrid arched one perfectly plucked eyebrow. "Savorgnan?"

Her voice wasn't disdainful, but rather genuinely curious.

Narcissa didn't answer, but put her hand on Victoria's shoulder lightly in support. Right.

"I was left at an orphanage as a baby. A muggle couple adopted me, and no one knew what my last name was, so… " She felt sick saying it. Not because it was a lie, but because it was cruel and awful to anyone actually orphaned, and to her parents, who in the minds of these two purebloods were lower than dirt.

"Oh," Ingrid said, eyes downcast. "I'm sorry."

Victoria nodded curtly, eager to get the charade over with.

"Anyway," Narcissa began, sitting down on a loveseat, "I thought we'd pay a visit and let you work your magic."

…

When she was back at Hogwarts a week later, safe out of the reach of Narcissa's pampering, the first place she visited was, oddly enough, Hagrid's.

Why she went there she had no idea, but she supposed it had something to do with the simplicity. She didn't have to tip-toe around Hagrid.

Unfortunately for her, Potter and Weasley were there as well.

"Oh, Victoria, hullo," Hagrid said, looking even more dishevelled than usual. Victoria narrowed her eyes at him and dropped her bag on a chair across from Potter. Although it was a warm day, the fire was burning and the windows were closed, making the interior of the hut unbearably stuffy.

The two Gryffindors must've not been there for long, because their mugs were still full of tea, and they weren't yet flushed from the heat.

Potter, looking mildly uncomfortable, asked Hagrid: "We… erm, we were wondering what's protecting the Sorcerer's Stone other than Fluffy?"

Hagrid dropped the late of rock cakes he was holding, the ceramic shattering on the floor.

"How'd you know 'bout that?" he asked, gobsmacked.

Harry and Ron's gazes shifted to Victoria, who sighed quietly and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "I figured it made sense when you mentioned Nicholas Flamel and I mentioned it to them. But, Hagrid, don't worry. No one else knows."

Harry nodded. "We only want to know who had done it. Who Dumbledore had put his faith in, other than you."

Hagrid yielded at these last words.

"Well, I s'pose I could tell yeh that… Dumbledore borrowed Fluffy from me… and some o' the teachers did some magic… Professor Sprout - Professor Flitwick - Professor McGonagall - Professor Quirrell - " Victoria's eyes snaped up to him, suddenly focused "an' Dumbledore also did somethin'. Oh yeah, he asked Professor Snape too."

"Snape?" Potter and Weasley cried simultaneously.

"Yeah - yer can't still be serious abou' that. Dumbledore trusted Snape to protect the stone, he's not goin' ter steal it."

Victoria privately agreed. The bit about Quirrell, however, was interesting. If he was asked to protect the stone, he could've very well likely put the troll there, which also meant he could get through Fluffy and any other obstacles that came before.

Her eyes fell on the fireplace.

A gigantic black egg lay in the flames, flickering in and out of sight as one flame or another covered it.

She opened her mouth.

"Hagrid, where did you get a dragon egg?"

"I won it. I was down at Hog's Head - 'tis a pub in the village - las' night. I had a few drinks an' this stranger comes up and asks meh if I wanted to play a game o' cards. I think he was letting meh win, 'cause he was glad to get rid of it."

She would be too. Hagrid's love of animals bordered on idiocy.

"Let me get this straight. A stranger comes up to you, a stranger who just happens to have a dragon egg in his pocket, and pretty much gives it to you?" Victoria asked, leaning back in her chair.

Hagrid scratched the back of his head.

"Oh."

"What I've got 'ere is a Norweigian Ridgeback. They're very rare," Hagrid said, looking very pleased with himself.

"And what are you going to do when it hatches?"

"Well, I've read some," said Hagrid, pulling out a large book from under his pillow. It was a copy of Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit that she gave him a few weeks prior. " - it's a bit outta date, but it's got all the tips here."

By "a bit" he must've meant several hundred years, as a book written after 1709 would've certainly mentioned the fact that private dragon keeping was illegal.

"Yeh 'ave to keep the egg in the fire, 'cause in the wild their mothers breathe at 'em, an' when it hatches, yeh're s'possed ter feed it a bucket o' brandy an' chicken blood every half hour. "

"You live in a wooden house!" she said.

But Hagrid, evidently, wasn't listening.

…

Victoria was in Herbology when a folded piece of paper hit her shoulder and fell to the floor. Making sure that Professor Sprout was still busy reprimanding Weasley, she picked it up. The message inside was short.

It's hatching.

Oh, joy.

She caught Potter's eye, a little surprized that he bothered to tell her that much, and nodded.

When the bell rang at the end of the lesson, Victoria hurried through the grounds to the edge of the forest, where Hagrid's hut stood. The groundskeeper greeted her with childlike excitement on his face - what she could see of his face anyway, since a bushy beard covered most of it, leaving only his nose and eyes visible.

Potter and Weasley yet again got there ahead of her.

"Please, Savorgnan," the redhead muttered to her "talk him out of this."

Victoria arched a dark, perfectly groomed (thank you, Ingrid) eyebrow, making Weasley's ears turn an alarming shade of beet red.

The egg was lying in the center of the table, strange clicking noises coming from several long, deep cracks.

Potter, Weasley, and Hagrid sat down at the table, but the witch chose to stay by the door, a safe distance away.

The four of them waited with bated breath, though Hagrid was the only eager-looking one. Weasley was rather green, and Potter was leaning back from the table ever so slightly.

There was a sharp scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby dragon - a skinny black creature with bony, disproportionately large wings - flopped on the table.

It's eyes were huge, bulging, and orange.

When a couple of sparks flew from its mouth in a parody of a sneeze, Victoria pressed herself into the door until the handle was digging into her back.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Hagrid murmured.

Hagrid reached out a hand toward to stroke the dragon's head, but it snapped at his fingers, displaying long, pointed, and undoubtedly venomous fangs.

Her respect for the creature rose a notch.

"Hagrid," she asked "How fast do they grow?"

But Hagrid didn't answer. Instead he went pale, shot up from his seat, and rushed to the window, where a distinct head of platinum blond hair was running up toward the castle.

…

Please review.

\- Salazara


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:**

**I don't own Harry Potter. There are some quotes from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone used in this chapter.**

Draco Malfoy looked smug. While that in itself was a regular occurrence, he never wasted an opportunity to brag. The fact that he wasn't doing so now made her think that his surname wasn't the only reason he got into Slytherin and she would've appreciated that greatly, had it not been directed at _her_.

Not that he could've seen her there, with where she was standing, but still. If she was just two feet closer to the center of the hut, she'll have some explaining to do.

So, Victoria and the Golden Two, as she dubbed them, spent the better part of the week trying to talk some sense into Hagrid within the confines of his darkened hut.

"Let him go," Harry urged, "Set him free."

"But he's so little," Hagrid said " He'd die if I leave him."

Victoria looked at the dragon which by then had grown thrice without bothering to hide her sceptism.

"Potter," she began when they were forced to work together in Potions, "Think of something. He's your friend, right? You won't let him get locked up in prison," though that would be safer for us all. "Because if that dragon is still there by the end of the week, I'll tell on him."

"You won't!" he exclaimed, outraged.

"Watch me."

Wesley suddenly let out a victorious yelp, and Victoria was about to ask him if he needs to go to the infirmary (it sounded more like he had an asthma attack), when: "My older brother, Charlie lives in Romania. He works with dragons. I can write to him. Hagrid said Norbert was a rare breed, right? I'm sure Charlie would want to take him."

…

Wednesday night, Ron went down to help Hagrid and got bitten by Norbert.

Charlie answered his letter and agreed to pick up the dragon at midnight on Saturday, from the top of the Astronomy Tower.

By the next morning, Ron's bitten hand had swollen terribly, and with Victoria's persistence, he was taken to the Hospital Wing, under a flimsy lie of being bitten by a dog. All would've been fine, had Malfoy not taken one of Ron's books when taunting him.

It so happened to be the book with Charlie's letter in it.

Cursing Weasley's carelessness, Victoria begrudgingly agreed to help Potter with Norbert.

…

They came to Hagrid's a little late (Peeves was playing tennis in the entrance hall) and found him sobbing over Norbert, blowing his nose into a tablecloth-sized handkerchief loudly.

"He's got lots of rats and brandy, so he won't get hungry ," he said "And I 'ave his teddy bear 'ere, so he won't get lonely."

That's when her eye began to twitch.

"How exactly are planning to get this -" she pointed to the crate that held Norbert, "Up to the highest tower in the castle _unnoticed_?"

Potter held up a piece of silver cloth. "Invisibility cloak."

Victoria's eyes bulged. Invisibility cloaks were incredibly rare._ "What - How?"_

"I'll tell you later."

They held the crate with Norbert under the cloak, and climbed underneath it themselves.

By the time they made it to the castle, Victoria sincerely regretted ever making Hagrid's acquaintance. Panting, they heaved Norbert up one staircase after another.

Near the forbidden third-floor corridor they came upon a furious McGonaggall, dressed in a tartan bathrobe holding, much to Victoria's delight, an equally furious Malfoy by the ear.

"Detention! And twenty points from Slytherin for wandering around in the middle of the night! How dare you…"

"Professor, Harry Potter's got a dragon…"

"What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on - I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!"

Potter looked like Christmas has come early.

They walked up another spiral staircase up to the top of the tower and gladly threw off the cloak. It was far from comfortable, with the two of them underneath.

Not ten minutes later, Charlie and his friends flew up to them on broomsticks. There were six of them, carrying a harness to suspend Norbert between them.

After all was done, when the dragon became a small speck on the horizon, Victoria felt a strange sense of wrongness bubble up, like she was missing something.

"I think we should go," she said, looking around suspiciously.

They didn't get very far.

…

Filch held a struggling Harry by the collar of his school robes and smiled cruelly up at her. He walked the pair of them down to McGonagall's office (she didn't want to think what would happen if the Professor found out what they were doing. They might make an exception for the Boy-Who-Lived, but they wouldn't do so for her). Alibi after alibi and lie after lie rushed madly through her mind as they walked down the deserted corridors.

Professor McGonaggal appeared, followed, much to her surprise, by none other that Longbottom.

"Harry!" he screeched as soon as he entered the office " I tried to warn you - Malfoy said he was going to catch you and that you had a —"

Victoria glared at him angrily to shut him up, but McGonaggall has noticed, and in that moment looked about as friendly as Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback.

"Mr. Potter! _Ms. Savorgnan!_" the Professor all but yelled, accentuating her name in a way that Victoria didn't like at all, "It's one o'clock in the morning! _Explain yourself!"_

Victoria dropped her eyes to the ground, ready to play full when it'll come to that. Shakily exhaling her breath - she would've made a great actress - the witch met the McGonaggall's sharp gaze.

"I think I know what's going on. You, Mr. Potter, came up with some crazy story about a dragon to get Draco Malfoy in trouble," the Professor said, "But you, Ms. Savorgnan - why were you there too?"

"I… You know I'm muggleborn, Professor," Victoria said, too quietly for Longbottom to hear, but still loud enough to earn a shocked look from Potter.

"My housemates… they don't know about it, but they don't like people like me," she clenched her fists in her lap,"They've said things - bad things. I tried to get them not to, but I… I couldn't stand it anymore," her voice broke. She sniffed, a lone tear escaping her eye and trailing down her cheek

_Hook, line, and sinker._

McGonaggall's expression softened greatly.

"I see. So you two decided to cooperate."

Her words were scolding, but her tone was not.

"Nevertheless, all three of you deserve detention. And twenty points from Ms. Savorgnan and fifty each from you two - Mr. Potter, Mr. Longbottom!"

When Victoria entered the Slytherin Common Room she found Draco Malfoy wide-awake.

"_Victoria_?"

"Restricted Section," she lied, falling onto a sofa with a groan.

A week later during breakfast two identical notes were delivered to her and Malfoy.

_Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight._

_Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall._

_Professor McGonaggall_

…

At eleven o'clock the following day Victoria and Draco bundled up in their cloaks - it was quite chilly that day - and went up to the entrance hall to meet Harry, Longbottom, and Filch.

The Hogwarts caretaker entertained them with stories of chains, dungeons, torture, etc. that he would have loved to perform upon them as they walked through the grounds.

A familiar voice sounded in the distance:

"Hurry up, Filch! I haven't got all day!"

It was Hagrid.

Relief shone on Harry's face, and Filch was quick to notice it.

"You think you'll be enjoying yourself with that half-wit? People have walked into that forest to never come out again," he said.

Trust Filch to cheer them up.

Malfoy stopped where he was standing, Longbottom moaned, Harry gave a sharp intake of breath, and Victoria hissed quietly.

"The Forbidden Forest?" Malfoy asked in a timid voice, "We can't go there at night - I know there're werewolves in there!"

"It's not full moon tonight," Victoria replied flatly.

Hagrid and his boarhound - Fang - came toward them from the darkness. He carried a crossbow with him. The darkness made him look much more intimidating than the cheerful man she was used to.

"'Bout time. We've been waiting for half hour fer you."

Filch left them not a minute later , grumbling something under his breath as he went.

Seeing him leave, Draco turned to Hagrid.

"I'm not going in there," he said.

Obviously, he had to anyway.

…

l"Alrigh', listen here. See that silver stuff on the ground - that's unicorn blood. We need to find the poor thing - this's the second time this happened. I found a dead one in the forest just las' week."

Hagrid held a lamp in his hands as they all stood at the edge of the forest.

"What if the thing that killed the unicorn finds us?" Malfoy said with a tinge of fear audible in his voice.

"Keep to the path," _a whole load of good it will do when something wants us dead,_ "You'll be fine as long yer're with me or Fang," Hagrid pointed to the dog next to him, "We'll split up in two groups and go in differen' directions. There's blood all over the floor, poor thing must've bin staggering 'round for a while."

"I'll take Fang," Draco said.

"Alright, but he's a coward, mind yeh," said Hagrid. "So me, Harry, an' Neville'll go this way," he pointed toward the path, "Victoria an' Draco will go the other. If yeh find the unicorn, send up green sparks, an' if yer in trouble, send up red sparks, an' we'll come an' find yeh - so, be cautious - let's go."

The path curved serpentine through the dark, silent forest. Victoria and Draco went left down the trail, while Hagrid, Harry, and Longbottom went right.

It wasn't exactly an easy walk. They kept their eyes on the ground, attempting to avoid stumbling on a root, or slipping on a pile of fallen leaves, of which there were plenty.

Barely half-an-hour in, Draco began complaining.

_Again_.

"... they're making us risk our lives - all because we were out after hours. I swear, when my father…"

… _hears about this_ went unsaid, as Victoria grabbed him by his sleeve.

"_Shut up._"

She kept her eyes trained on the ancient oak tree on her right.

"Wha.."

_"I said shut up!"_

Victoria dragged him away from the offending tree to the center of the path and took her wand out.

"There's something in there," she said.

Hiding behind tangled roots of the gnarled oak, they looked at the clearing beyond, Victoria's eyes becoming greener as she searched the rugged terrain for a sign of something. A few seconds later she caught a glimmer of white.

The hairs on her arms rose.

"We found it," she said hollowly.

Victoria walked into the clearing and sent up green sparks. The unicorn, with it's blinding coat and silky tail, so prized for its magical properties, lay sprawled on the forest floor. Its hind legs were bent at an unnatural angle, and it was panting heavily. Kneeling next to the doomed creature, Victoria gently ran her hands through its long, tangled mane.

A wound revealed itself on the unicorn's neck. It was a deep gash, at least ten inches in length, torn muscle curling at the edges, bright silver. Heavy residue of magic hung over it.

Victoria stepped back.

She read about unicorns before - from a poorly written book that she hoped to never touch again. The author - Thaddeus Lovegood was, according to most, a right loon. But looking past his atrocious writing skills, and senseless theories, she found the thick volume to be quite useful.

Especially now.

"_It's a terrible thing to slay a unicorn. Though unicorn blood can save one from the brink of death, few would choose to drink it, as it would condemn them to a cursed half-life."_

But what if the person in question wasn't alive? What if they had nothing to lose?

Lord Voldemort, the darkest wizard of all time. The one Potter vanquished. She remembered first learning about him, remembered thinking how ridiculous it was that a man who was believed to be invincible could lose his life to an infant.

_They never found his body._

The Sorcerer's Stone, the obstacle course surrounding it during what happened to be Potter's first year at Hogwarts. And Quirrell — it was well known that Voldemort spent some time in Albania during his reign. So what if he went back? What if Quirrell didn't want the Stone for himself — what if he wanted it for someone else.

A shapeless black-cloaked figure slithered out of the bushes, coming toward the unicorn where Victoria kneeled minutes earlier, and lowered it face— where she thought its face might be— to the gash in the creature's neck.

"AAAAAARGH!"

Malfoy screamed and bolted, running back in the direction they came from. Fang followed close behind. The figure raised its hooded head and glided toward Victoria.

She stared curiously at it, unmoving. Head cocked to the side, she looked frightfully akin to a snake while her eyes, those pale, icy, green jewels, shone with something dark.

All of a sudden, without giving the figure a single clue about her actions, Victoria jumped behind the nearest tree.

An arrow soared, then another one. From where she used to stand in the clearing, she saw glimpses of centaurs' bodies moving silently through the trees. The figure, standing with its back to them, did not.

It disappeared just as quickly and noiselessly as it appeared. Letting out a relieved breath, Victoria sat down nestled between the roots of a gnarled yew, her eyelids fluttering shut for a moment.

"This isn't a safe place for students to be out."

Victoria opened her eyes, startled, and pointed her wand at the disturbance. It was one thing to read about centaurs in "_Hogwarts, A History_" and another to meet one face to face.

"It's detention," she replied curtly. Victoria didn't hold anything against centaurs, but looking at the half-man, half-horse, she didn't feel particularly inclined to spend another moment in his company.

He looked at her oddly, then reached out a hand to help her up.

"What did you do to end up here?" the centaur asked her curiously.

"Smuggled a dragon out of the castle," Victoria answered, "After hours. So I guess I got off easily."

Suddenly, she heard the sound of more galloping.

_Great_.

"Firenze! What are you doing?" two centaurs came onto the path. One of them - the one that asked the question - had black hair and dark body of horse, another, a calmer-looking individual had red hair, chestnut body, and a red-ish tail. Both carried a bow in their hands and arrows on their backs.

The dark, wild-looking one noticed her presence and immediately rounded upon the one she assumed was Firenze.

"What have you been telling her?" he growled, "Have we not read the future in the planets? Have we not decided to keep it to ourselves? It's not our business to run around like puppies after loose humans in the forest!"

"Bane I'm sure…" the red-haired one began.

"Don't tell me what to do, Ronan! You know what has been foretold! We are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens - we won't concern ourselves with wizards!"

Realizing that it wouldn't be much longer before they began firing arrows, Victoria tried to slip away around the tree quietly. She barely took two steps, however, before Firenze reared on his back legs and thundered:

"Do you not see who she is?"

Three pairs of eyes turned to Victoria sharply. Bane, barely sparing her a glance, spoke:

"Another student at the school."

"You spoke of the future! Open your eyes!" Firenze yelled at him, "Do you not see why that unicorn was killed? Do you not know who's after it? Look at her eyes, Bane. Do you not realize _what_ she is?"

Victoria watched the scene play out. It was getting interesting, too interesting to miss. She had yet to understand her part in it, but the centaurs had revealed much more than she hoped for. They knew of Voldemort, and of Quirrell, and of the Stone, and they had an inkling of what was about to come.

Looking up at the sky, Victoria noticed that Mars seemed unusually bright. _Mars, the god of war._

"You talk nonsense…" Bane broke off suddenly, eyes locked with hers.

"Do I?" Firenze said smugly.

All three of them were looking at Victoria as she stood leaning against the yew.

Firenze broke the silence:

"I should probably get you back to Hagrid."

"No need. He's coming this way as we speak," she said.

"Then I…"

"VICTORIA!"

In seconds, Hagrid, Harry, Draco, and Longbottom rounded the ancient yew, but their faces took on a startled look when they saw her company.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked her.

"I'm fine," she said, throwing a glare Malfoy's way. He was looking at his shoes. "Hagrid, the unicorn is in the clearing back there - it's dead."

As she made to follow others to see the unicorn, Firenze grabbed her by her arm.

"Stay safe," he said. There was such earnesty in his eyes and words that she couldn't help but nod. Firenze let her go, and she walked out onto the clearing.

"Victoria," Draco said, out of Harry's and Hagrid's hearing range, "I'm sorry. Really, I thought you ran too."

"It's fine," she said stiffly. I wasn't expecting much from you to begin with.

"No, it's not fine!" he whispered hotly "I shouldn't have left you there. I _swear_, I won't do that again."

She looked carefully at Draco. A certain trait ran in his family - Malfoys were loyal to themselves. Although Victoria was no Malfoy, she was certainly close enough to be considered a surrogate relative of sorts. They definitely liked her well enough to invite her to the Manor for the summer - Victoria politely declined - and to send her letters as often as they did to Draco. As for the boy himself, she, along with Theo, were the closest friends he had (Crabbe and Goyle were in the "bodyguards" category).

"Make sure you don't."

**Please review!**

**Salazara**


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note**

**I don't own Harry Potter. J. K. Rowling does. Very, **_**very **_**few quotes are used.**

**Thank you so much everyone who reviewed!**

**Salazara**

The exams were easier than she expected, but the constant threat of Voldemort coming back hung over her like a guillotine. It was tiring to say at least. Even though Victoria knew that that the hidden stone was nothing but a test for Harry, she was smart enough to tell that Voldemort knew that too. And if he dared to risk stealing it under Dumbledore's watch, the circumstances must've not been so dire for him.

Yet days passed by and everything was as fine as it could be. They wrote their papers in a large, hot classroom, with special quills that were charmed to prevent cheating.

There were practical exams too. They had to make a pineapple dance across a table for Charms, turn a mouse into a snuffbox for Transfiguration, and brew a Forgetfulness Potion for Snape. She got all of them perfectly - even the potion, if the look of begruging admiration on his face was anything to go by.

It didn't escape her notice that the shadows under the Potions Master's eyes got darker and more pronounced.

It was strange to walk the halls or lounge in the Common Room surrounded by people who had no idea of what went on in the school. She hadn't wrote much to Ron or Harry after their detention - exams took up most of their time.

But she grew closer with Daphne. The other girl was quieter and calmer than her other dormmates, and she was much more interesting to talk to. She spent a lot of time with Theo and Draco too, mostly in the library, reading. It was a routine: Draco left first, Theo left an hour later after asking Victoria if she was going to stay or not, and she left last, often after curfew.

They asked her how she got away with it, but she only shrugged and said that it was no big deal, and that she simply was careful and alert.

Then Harry's scar began to hurt.

They - her, Ron, and Harry had just finished up their History of Magic exam and made their way down to the deserted side of the lake when Victoria noticed him rubbing his hand over it.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"The scar is burning - it happened before. I wish I knew why," he said.

"You're looking too much into it," Ron told him, "Go see Madame Pomfrey."

"When did it happen before," Victoria asked him, "I need every single detail."

Harry scratched the back of his head.

"Well, when I dreamt of my, uh, of my parents dying, I would wake up with my scar hurting," he said.

"Then it has something to do with Voldemort," said Victoria, "but so far it seems that it hurts when you're feeling strong emotions in regards to him," she explained "But it could also be a warning - or it goes both ways and pain is the response to his strong emotions. Or," she added, "it's all of them."

The prospect of the scar warning him of danger sobered them up.

Ron was the first to break the silence:

"You know, Victoria is right - the stone is safe as long as Dumbledore is around. And," he said, "Snape still doesn't know how to get past Fluffy."

With how much the boys blamed him, Victoria almost felt sorry for the Professor. Almost being the key word. With Gryffindors, his attitude wasn't too different from that of Norbert, the Norwegian Ridgeback Dragon, so he really had it coming for him.

_Dragon._

Suddenly, she bolted from the tree she was sitting under and said:

"We need to see Hagrid. _Now_."

"What? Why?" Harry panted as he tried to keep up with her.

Victoria put her hopes on the fact that the Slytherins wouldn't question her judgement. If it were anyone else, her housemates would've ostracized them, but she was unique in more ways than one - her academic and social success convinced the snakes to accept her actions no matter what.

As for other houses, she didn't give a damn.

"_Because_," she hissed, "Hagrid's biggest wish is a dragon, and all of a sudden, a stranger turns up with a dragon egg in his pocket. Don't you think it strange that that person came upon our animal-loving groundskeeper and practically gave it to him?"

"What are you going on about?" Ron asked her as they sprinted through the grounds.

"You'll see."

They found Hagrid sitting in a chair outside his hut. He was busy peeling peas into a large bowl.

"Hullo," he greeted them with a smile, "Finished yer exams already? Got time fer some tea?"

"Sorry, Hagrid, no," Victoria replied hastily, "Do you know what that stranger you got Norbert from looked like?"

"Oh, dunno," said Hagrid, "He never took his hood off."

His eyebrows shot up at the boys' stunned looks and at the low half-hiss, half-groan that rose from Victoria's throat.

"Did you say anything about Hogwarts?" she asked, dreading the answer.

"Mighta come up," Hagrid said, frowning as he tried to remember "Yeah, I told him I was a gamekeeper here… he asked what creatures I looked after and I told him… eh, look, I don't remember much 'cause he kept getting me drinks… we talked about the egg, he asked if I had experience looking after dangerous creatures, but I told him that after Fluffy a dragon would be easy - and Fluffy is a piece o' cake if you know how ter calm him down - just play him some music and he'll go straight to sleep… Hey, where're yeh all goin'?"

Not bothering to answer, Victoria, Harry, and Ron ran to the castle at neck-breaking speed, earning quite a few curious glances from the students enjoying the end of the exams outside.

Once they were in the Entrance Hall, Victoria twirled sharply around to face Harry and Ron.

"We've got to go to Dumbledore," said Harry. "Hagrid told stranger - it was either Voldemort or Snape," _no, Harry, no, it was Quirrell_, thought Victoria " - under that cloak. It must've been easy once he got Hagrid drunk…"

"What are you three doing here?"

It was McGonagall, carrying a large pile of books when she could've levitated them. Victoria swallowed an instinctual reply - _We're students here_ \- and said in her good girl voice:

"Heading to the library, Professor."

Ron and Harry gaped at the sudden change in her manner.

"The exams are over, Ms. Savorgnan," the Professor said tersely, "Whatever do you need the library for?"

"I wanted to take The Basics of Transfiguration by Annabelle Abbot for some light reading, Professor," Victoria said, "Harry and Ron joined me to work on their summer homework. Right, Harry, Ron?" she turned to them.

"I, uh, yes, we did" Ron stammered.

McGonagall pursed her lips. "It all well and good that you are willing help your classmates with their homework, Ms. Savorgnan, but you'll be missing a wonderful day out," she said.

Victoria smiled.

"Don't worry, Professor, we won't take long. Harry wanted to speak with Dumbledore today - they have a meeting arranged," she lied.

"Professor Dumbledore?" McGonagall's eyebrows rose, "I'm afraid you'll have to wait until tomorrow, Mr. Potter. The Headmaster left ten minutes ago - urgent matters in the Ministry."

Poor Harry looked lost. Victoria, on other hand, had no doubt that the whole situation was a farce.

"Well, then, Professor, we'll be off. Good day to you."

Victoria pretended to lead the boys to the library, but as soon as they were out off McGonagall's sight, they stopped.

Harry looked miserable.

"It's tonight," he said, "Snape is going to steal the stone for Voldemort - now that he's got Dumbledore…

"Shush!" Victoria hissed. They turned around.

"Good afternoon," said Snape.

"Good afternoon to you too, Professor," Victoria answered politely and walked off, the perfect picture of nonchalance. She could practically feel Harry's and Ron's glares burning a hole in her back. She rounded a corner, then stopped to listen.

"You shouldn't be inside on a day like this, pestering my students," Snape said, "Gryffindor can't afford to lose any more points. Good day to you."

A few seconds later, Harry and Ron joined her.

"Very Slytherin of you to run off, Victoria."

"Why, thank you. I'm flattered, truly."

For a few moments, there was silence. Then:

"I'm going out there tonight, and I'm going to try to get to the Stone first," Harry blurted out. Ron's eyes went as wide as saucers.

"You're mad!" he said.

Victoria hummed thoughtfully.

"Yes, Harry, you are, if you think that we'll miss all the fun coped up in our dorms," she said.

It took him a few seconds to realize the implication of her words. Much as he was a good friend, Harry was a Gryffindor, and like all Gryffindors, he was … overly impulsive.

"You know, I can't decide if you're crazy or not," he grinned at her.

Victoria threw her head back and laughed.

ooOoo

The witch was an enigma. Her blatant disregard for the situation in the wizarding world was startling. She would talk to Potter just as civilly as she would to Nott, or Zabini, or Greengrass, and somehow convinced both sides to trust her judgement without question.

_The idiots_, thought Severus as he sipped his firewhiskey, _follow Savorgnan around like blind puppies. _

She was an equivalent of no-man's land. She didn't take anyone's side - she made her own.

Dumbledore was a fool to think that Potter would be able to do a thing against the Dark Lord. Victoria Savorgan, however, would give his Master a run for his money.

_An ambush predator_.

Someone knocked on the door. Cursing under his breath, Severus drowned the rest of his drink in one gulp and rose.

"Enter!"

It was Dumbledore.

"You've been drinking," the Headmaster looked at the half-empty bottle on the table. Severus snorted.

"How observant of you, Albus," he said.

Dumbledore shook his head in an infuriating, patronizing manner. He conjured a comfortable-looking chair for himself and sat down in front of the Potions Master.

"Don't you have anything to do?" Severus blurted out.

"Oh, I'm supposed to be in the Ministry right now. An urgent appointment," smiled Dumbledore.

Severus lifted his eyebrow: "Tonight, then."

Dumbledore nodded silently.

ooOoo

"Took your time, didn't you?"

"Sorry, Victoria," said Ron, not sounding apologetic at all, "Takes a while to get her under the cloak. Wait," he asked suddenly, "How did you get here so quickly?"

"Slytherin, remember. Ability to sneak in and out of places is required to become one," Victoria smirked.

"Forget I asked."

Victoria flicked her wrist at the door and the lock opened wandlessly.

"After you," she said mock-graciously.

Ron groaned, but entered, followed by Harry and then her. Inside, all of Fluffy's noses turned to them sniffling madly. Victoria threw a brief glance at the floor; a harp lay discarded a few feet away. She made a move to grab it, when suddenly she heard a sound that reminded her of the fire alarm at her muggle school.

It was Harry playing a flute. Surprisingly, Fluffy didn't seem to mind the tune - if it could even be called that - and slept soundly. Ron climbed over the dog's front legs and threw open the trapdoor.

"I can't see the floor!" he said. Harry made a move as to say something, but Victoria stopped him:

"Keep playing! It might wake up if you don't," she said. "Ron, get something heavy, throw it down there and count how many seconds pass until you hear it hit the bottom."

"Where am I supposed to find it?" he cried.

"Are you out of your mind?! You're a wizard, Salazar damn it! Conjure something!" she bit back.

Ron came back to his senses and waved his wand around chaotically. Nothing happened.

"Damn this stupid thing!" he muttered, as if it was the wand's fault that he wasn't focusing properly. Victoria rolled her eyes at his antics and joined him next to the trap door.

She conjured a beautiful serpentine stone in her hand and threw it down. She counted seven seconds before she heard a faint smack.

"It's about 225 feet, give or take. The bottom is something soft though."

"How did you find that out?" asked Ron.

" Distance equals speed multiplied by time. Free fall is 9.8 meters per second. I counted the seconds. Multiply, convert, and voila! Didn't you learn this stuff?" Victoria asked, curious.

Ron's ears turned red.

"Er… no. When would I need that" _how about right now_, "Fred and George taught themselves though."

Her housemates all had been tutored in basic maths and physics as bases for spell creation; to break the laws of nature one has to understand them first, and arithmancy was offered in Hogwarts for the same purpose. But _of course_ Ron didn't need it.

Harry was still playing his nightmarish tune. Realizing that she couldn't stand it any more, Victoria pointed her wand at Ron and said:

"I'm going to levitate you down, and you will tell me what's down there. Wingardium Leviosa!"

Ron protested weakly, but she paid him no mind, and so he shut up. A minute later, his voice came from the trap door.

"It's really humid in here. And cold," he said.

"Do you see the floor?" Victoria shouted.

"Yeah. It's… Oh I'm standing. Some kind of vine-looking thing, I guess. It's really soft."

Victoria took Harry's hand firmly and said:

"We are going to jump and I'll levitate us down there. On count of three: one, two, THREE!"

They jumped, Fluffy madly barking behind them until she threw a _Silencio_ his way. Wind - cold and damp - whipped at her face and made her hair into a mess, but she didn't care. There was something exhilarating about that fall, something so freeing and wonderful that she didn't want it to ever stop.

A few feet from the floor she threw the charm on herself and Harry, so they landed safely.

"That was…"

"Amazing, I know!"

Her eyes quickly adjusted to the gloom, and she noticed what they were standing Ron.

Dumbledore grossly overestimated Harry's knowledge in Herbology, apparently.

"You're standing on Devil's Snare. Look at your feet!" she cried, as she, without making a single movement, lit the plant up in bright green flames. They were harmless to her, but the plant was writhing away. Victoria helped Ron and Harry shake the remaining vines off themselves.

"Good thing you knew what to do," Harry told her.

"And good thing that you don't lose your head under pressure," Ron added as they made their way to a stone passage that was the only obvious exit.

ooOoo

Lord Voldemort looked at the Mirror of Erised through his servant's eyes. His irritation peaked by second. The mirror showed him his biggest desire - the Stone, yet there was no way to get it out of there. Unless…

He eyes ran across the description at the top.

A smile tugged at his lips. How very _Dumbledore_.

The Potter boy will be of some use yet.

**Please Review!**


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: I don't own Harry Potter. Duh.

I know that I'm not a very good writer, and that my imagery is average at best, but please review. It can't be that hard to click the review button and write something. Or just put a smiley face. Or a frowny face. Seriously, nothing motivates to write more than reviews.

"Do you hear it?"

A soft, rustling sound was coming from ahead the passage.

"Sounds like wings," Ron said thoughtfully.

They walked on and saw a brightly lit room at the end of the passageway. There was a heavy wooden door at the opposite wall. What looked like thousands of brilliantly colored little birds were soaring throughout the room.

No, not birds, she realized. Keys.

"Do you think they'll attack us if try to cross?" Harry asked.

"Yes, they will peck us to death with their non-existent beaks," Victoria sang sarcastically.

"What are you… Oh, they're keys!" Harry exclaimed, "That means there got to be broomsticks somewhere - look, there they are," he said, looking around the room, "We need to find the right key to open the door."

Dumbledore must've really been running out of ideas to do something that obvious. What sane person would put the key where Voldemort was sure to find it? And kindly give him a broom, no less.

"Aren't you getting on?"

"No," she answered curtly. They didn't press the subject.

"Look for a big, old one that matches the handle, and looks like it has been caught before," Ron yelled to Harry in an odd bout of deduction. Suddenly, Harry shot off like a maniac and pinned the right key against the wall.

Ron cheered, and Victoria privately thought that Slytherin had no hopes of winning the next year's Quidditch Cup.

Harry landed hurriedly and ran to the door with the struggling key in his hand. A second later, she heard the sound of the door clicking open.

The next chamber was pitch-black. From where they stood, they couldn't see a thing. Harry - in a typical show of Gryffindor over-impulsiveness - took a hesitant step in. As soon as he did, brilliant light - so bright, in fact, that they had to shield their eyes for a moment - flooded the room.

Whoever created it certainly had a flair for the dramatic. A giant chess board took up all the space, so they were standing at the edge of it, behind obsidian black pieces which were all taller than any of them. On the opposite side were the faceless white chessmen. Behind them was another door.

"We have to play our way across the room," said Ron. He walked up to the nearest knight, and touched the knight's horse. At once the motionless statues came to life.

"Do we, erm, have to join you to go across?" The knight nodded slowly. Ron turned to them:

"This needs some thinking. I suppose we got to take place of three black pieces," he mused. After a few minutes of pacing, he said:

"Harry, take the place of that castle over there, and Victoria, you take the bishop next to it."

They took their assigned positions, and Ron took his as a knight. The chessmen - beautiful pieces of transfiguration, really - must've been listening, because they walked off the board as soon as Ron spoke.

"What now," Harry asked.

"White always play first - look!" Ron exclaimed.

A white pawn had moved two squares forward.

Ron - who turned out to be surprisingly good at chess - directed the black pieces as they darted silently around the board.

"Victoria -"

"I got it," she said as she moved four squares to the right.

The surprise came when the white queen smashed the black night to the floor. It didn't take long for a mountain of black chess-pieces to appear along the wall, though admittedly they took nearly as many white players as they had lost their own.

"We're almost there," Ron muttered, "Let me think for a second…"

Victoria saw it too. If the queen would move one step, she'll be free to checkmate the king.

"I've got to be taken," said Ron quitely.

"NO!" Harry shouted.

"Victory never comes without sacrifices, Harry. Besides," she added truthfully, "It wouldn't kill him."

Ron moved one square forward. The white queen mercilessly pounced on him, hitting him over the head with her marble arm. He crashed to the floor, but his chest rose and fell steadily. It looked like he's been knocked out - and probably got a nasty concussion too.

Victoria took three squares to the left. The white king put his hand up, as if to strike, but took his crown off and threw it at her feet at the last moment.

The game was over. The chessmen all froze, and the only clue that they were once mobile was the pile of knocked out figures along the wall, and Ron lying prone where he fell.

"Let's go, Harry," she said, gently guiding him by the sleeve.

The next room had only one notable feature - the smell. If there was one thing that smelled worse than dead rats, public toilets, and garbage dumps put together, it had to be a troll.

Luckily for them this one was dead.

They hurried through the room, covering their noses with the sleeves of their black school robes - hers lined with green, Harry's with red. A thought of how ironic it was that the great and noble Godric Gryffindor would choose the color of blood and provocation to represent his house rushed briefly through her mind.

The wizarding world was full of controversies.

Harry pulled open the next door. Instead of another overly-dramatic spectacle, a simple wooden table stood in the center of the room. Seven differently shaped bottles stood atop of it in a straight line. A roll of parchment lay next to them.

As soon as they stepped across the threshold, bright purple fire shot up in the doorway behind them. Black flames appeared in the passage ahead in the same moment.

Hmm. Maybe she was wrong about dramatics.

Victoria picked up the parchment from the table. As she read it, she could feel a smile form on her lips. It was brilliant.

Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,

Two of us will help you, which ever you would find,

One among us seven will let you move ahead,

Another will transport the drinker back instead,

Two among our number hold only nettle wine,

Three of us are killers, waiting bidden in line.

Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,

To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:

First, however slyly the poison tries to hide

You will always find some on the nettle wine's left side.

Second, different are those who stand at either end

But if you would move onwards, neither is your friend;

Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,

Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;

Fourth, the second left and the second on the right

Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

Harry, who was looking over her shoulder as she read the paper, let out a groan.

"We'll be stuck in here," he whined.

Victoria threw him a glare over her shoulder. Honestly.

"Give me some credit, Harry," she said briskly, and looked back at the riddle. It was clear enough. One potion gets the drinker through the purple flames, one through the black, two are wine, and three are poison.

The giant isn't a killer and is a twin to the second on the left - so these can only be wine. Then the ones on the left of these two are poisons, and the one on the right end send the drinker back. The "dwarf" lets the drinker go forward, and the remaining vial must be another poison.

Assuming that the order hasn't been messed with, that is. It wasn't a comforting thought.

"The small one will get you through the black flames," she said.

Harry picked it up carefully.

"There's only enough for one of us," he said.

"Then you'll go," Victoria told him flatly. She - they - knew what waited on the other side. The harp, the broken wings of the key, the suspiciously small amount of potion in the bottle Harry held all pointed to the fact that Voldemort got there ahead of them. But Harry didn't know what she knew, didn't know that Dumbledore was most likely in the castle several floors above, didn't know that there had to be another safeguard in place to protect him.

She was entering the realm of imagination with that last idea, but she knew she was right. How she knew it was another matter entirely.

"Go back. Help Ron," Harry told her as he swallowed the potion and turned to leave.

Victoria found herself staring at the black flames that had just engulfed the body of her friend and wondering what the future had in store. Assuming that they would get the Stone, what will they do? It was a deadly object now that Voldemort was after it. How ironic for something that was meant to give life to become the one thing that would surely take it away. No, keeping it wasn't an option; she, for one, wouldn't want that target on her back. She doubted anyone else would either. This shot at immortality simply wasn't worth it.

Then, the logical option would be to destroy it. How? Very few substances could demolish an object as powerful as the Stone. Something rare and cursed like unicorn blood, maybe. Magic labeled so dark that even the Malfoys kept any record of it hidden in their cellar. Or something bordering on mythical like phoenix tears...

A short, breathless laugh escaped her. How in the name of Merlin did she not see this earlier!

Victoria opened the hidden pocket on the inside of her robes and took out a vial of glistening clear liquid. It seemed strange that Fawkes would give her something to destroy the Stone with, when there was no guarantee that she would ever get her hands on it.

So why her?

She gave the vial a long look. Certainly that must be it…

She set it on the table with the potions and cast:

"Specialis revelio!"

The vial shuddered for a moment, then burst into pieces where it stood. It between the clear liquid and sharp shards of glass lay the once crimson Sorcerer's Stone now rapidly turning black, as if charred by something. Victoria watched, transfixed, as it cracked in two before crumbling apart further. In a matter of seconds, only a small smudge of fine black ash marked the spot where it once lay.

Sparing it a final glance, she turned on her heel and took the bottle that would get her through the purple flames. She uncorked it and took a sip; it tasted strange, like peppermint and something flowery at once, but not entirely unpleasant. She stepped through the flames that felt cold on her body, and hurried through the troll chamber.

The giant chess pieces in the next room had rearranged themselves to how they were before the game, but Ron's lanky frame still lay prone on the board. She shook him gently, but it seemed that he was out for good.

"Well, crap," she muttered, as she she cast a levitation charm on him. It was one thing to keep him afloat for a few minutes and another thing to do so for however long it takes to get to the Hospital Wing. Hogwarts is a big castle.

They stumbled through the key room and out through the passage. It was all quiet, except for the occasional drip, drip of water.

Then she realized that Harry still had the flute. With a groan, she set Weasley's body down on the floor and sat down, crossing her legs. At this point, they'll just have to wait for Snape to get here.

It couldn't have been more than a few minutes before a burst of bright orange fire appeared in the midair. Victoria shrieked in surprise as the flames died out and one very familiar phoenix appeared in their stead.

Fawkes perched on her shoulder nonchalantly and crooned, as if he hadn't just scared the living daylights out of her. Bloody bird.

"You know," she said, the stupidity of talking to an animal hitting her full force, "You could at least try to look apologetic."

Fawkes ruffled his brilliant maroon feathers and pecked her nose affectionately in response. She sighed and uncrossed her legs. Here was a phoenix that could carry extreme weight and fly. Might as well make good use of it.

"Fawkes," his feathered head turned her way, "Can you get us out of here. Please."

He let out a noise that sounded distinctly affirmative, and picked up Ron's prone form in his talons, leaving her to cling onto the boy's robes. She wouldn't want to repeat that flight ever again; more than once her hands slipped on the soft wool and she pulled herself up frantically. Strangely enough, Fluffy didn't so much as sniff in their direction. Perhaps taming three-headed dogs was a part of the phoenix's ability? Once they were out in the corridor, they parted, Fawkes carrying Ron to the Hospital Wing at Victoria's insistence, and she rushing down to the dungeons. The hallways were blissfully empty, though she could hear Peeves singing some atrocious tune in the distance when she passed by an abandoned Transfiguration classroom on the second floor.

Her lucky streak ran out when she skidded to a stop near the Entrance Hall, stubbed her toe on the rough stone floor (the joys of living in a medieval castle) and came a hair's breadth away from colliding with Albus Dumbledore.

Whether due to her impromptu stop in a shadowed corner of a rather narrow corridor, or one very conveniently placed gargoyle, the Headmaster didn't notice her. She waited until he passed, peeking over the statue's head to trace his hurried steps. Once she figured Dumbledore was a safe distance away, Victoria continued on to the dungeons, taking the stairs two at a time. The stretch of blank wall that cunningly hid the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room was a welcome sight for sure. With a whispered "Sacred Twenty-Eight" it slid open silently.

The door to the first year girls' dormitories was lacquered black with a silver serpentine one marking it as theirs. Victoria opened it and tip-toed inside as quietly as she could.

"Where were you?"

Not quietly enough, then.

She told her the whole thing. Well, almost the whole thing. Fawkes' role in the matter has gone unsaid.

"Merlin," Daphne breathed when she finished, "You-Know-Who was in the school all this time. And Potter is down there trying to beat him?"

Victoria hummed thoughtfully. "More like Dumbledore is saving him as we speak, but on the whole, yes, Potter saved the day. Again."

She wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to shake off the persistent cold of the Slytherin dungeons and yawned.

"Don't know about you," she stood up, "But I want to sleep."

If the ornate serpentine clock on her bedside table was anything to go by, it was three in morning by the time she fell into bed.

She didn't bother to close the curtains.

Authors Note:

So, there's one more chapter left in first year, and then I'll move on to the second. Finally - it's going to be much more interesting. It will also be longer.

I will rename the story to something a bit more sensible. If you have any ideas feel free to leave them in the reviews. Also, I will be editing the existing chapters in the next week or so. Little things - nothing too serious.

Please review!

Salazara


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: I don't own Harry Potter.**

"You hiss in your sleep."

Victoria threw the open hangings of her luxurious four poster a disdainful glance, then turned to face the only other occupant of the first-year Slytherin girls dorm. Millie and Pansy had left already - it was half-past-nine in the morning.

"I do that sometimes," she smiled reassuringly, "When I'm dreaming."

Still, Daphne retained some unexplained skepticism on her face - Merlin knows why. Sure, it was a little odd, but making random noises in one's sleep was hardly criminal.

"Hmph," the other girl huffed and walked out, "I'll see you at breakfast."

Victoria washed her face and dressed quickly. She came up to the Great Hall minutes before breakfast ended. The giant chamber was empty, save for a few Ravenclaws discussing something at their table. One of them, a tall girl with a prefect badge pinned to her chest, noticed her and excitedly whispered something to her friends.

Oh, she knew exactly what it was all about. The last night's escapade was a secret - so naturally the whole castle has heard a warped version of it by breakfast.

Ignoring the gossips completely, Victoria marched up to the Slytherin table, grabbed a plate, loaded it with all the goodness Hogwarts had to offer, and went outside. She sat down in the shade beneath a large yew, leaning onto the trunk and crossing her ankles as she munched on a slice of warm toast.

"The prey is plenty today."

She nearly jumped out of her skin. Her head whipped toward the sound, but she saw nothing there save for a patch of bare grass. Still, that meant nothing - she herself could turn invisible. The witch set her plate down and walked toward the spot cautiously. The grass was fresh and free of footmarks - no one has trodden there in a while. Still, she couldn't shake off the sense that someone was there still.

A flurry of warm brown caught her eye. A foot long viper was slithering away, it's tongue flicking out and collecting chemical cues in the air. It was… oddly cute.

She shook herself out of her thoughts. Either she imagined the voice, or the snake learned English. Definitely not the later. For all the legends about Salazar Slytherin being able to talk to snakes, they were just that - legends, attributed to nearly every morally questionable character in magical history.

Victoria finished her breakfast quickly, left the plate in the Great Hall - it disappeared upon touching the table - and took off to the Hospital Wing. The halls were blissfully devoid of students - most of them were either out on the grounds or in their Common Rooms, celebrating the end of the exams. Not a soul - man or ghost - crossed paths with her as she made her way to the infirmary and went inside. It had a distinctive atmosphere that she came to associate with the place - the smell of various potions and an overall sense of cleanliness that bordered on irritating. Whitewashed walls, white bedding, white marble floors. The only specks of color were Ronald Weasley's vivid red hair and Harry Potter's unruly jet black mane.

"Ms. Savorgnan!" the matron spoke briskly as she exited her adjacent office, "What are you here for?"

"To visit."

The matron smoothed back her grey locks and said: "Well, you may - but for ten minutes only. Mr. Potter is still unconscious, poor child, and Mr. Weasley is asleep."

"Thank you, Madam," Victoria replied politely, "I guess I'll just have to come later."

"Of course, dear."

So Harry hasn't woken up yet. Interesting. There were so many possibilities of what happened in the room behind the black flames - but the circumstances must've been worse than she thought.

She shook herself mentally. There were other things - far more pressing things than standing in the middle of the Hospital Wing like an idiot. She walked out and followed a familiar path to the library.

Library. Her personal heaven. Her face broke into a rare smile when she entered the room, rows upon rows of bookshelves a welcome sight. Three days; only three days to enjoy herself before leaving for the summer.

She felt bitter at the thought of Malfoy - who probably wouldn't enter his library for the next two month while she'll be bored stiff with the lack of anything new to learn and solve. It was petty, really. She shouldn't care.

She browsed through the bookshelves, charming the pile of books she collected to float behind her as she walked to a hidden alcove at the back. The solitary atmosphere was comforting. She cracked open one of the spines - _The Art of Animagi_ \- and proceeded to read merily.

She didn't get too far.

"Ms. Savorgnan!"

She jumped a foot into the air, fell off the windowsill and landed on the floor in a heap. Very graceful, she snickered to herself, then proceeded to glare at the intruder. Snape stood next to her, his posture straight, hands clasped behind his back, his face a cool mask of indifference. Victoria quickly arranged her own expression and rose from the ground. The book she was reading remained lying behind - best not to draw attention to it. Snape's eyes flickered toward the volume and back to her face.

Did the man ever miss anything?

He snickered. "Now that you've come about your wits follow me. I trust you can get to my office without falling again."

She smiled sweetly. "I'll see what I can do." The Professor scowled at her, then motioned her to lead the way. The witch felt somewhat uncomfortable with this arrangement: it gave her an unpleasant feeling to have an armed person behind her back. Not that Snape would raise his wand at her, but still…

They came to a stop in front of an imposing black door. The Professor pulled his wand out of his sleeve and waved it in a complex pattern. Dismantling the wards, she realized.

In a minute the door clicked open and they entered. She has never been inside Snape's office before. It's size was hard to judge thanks to the lack of lighting aside from a candelabra at the desk. The office had no windows; it's walls were stone and the floor was clad in matching black wood.

Snape sat down at his desk, motioning for her to take the chair in front of it. She obeyed him reluctantly.

"You know why you're here." It wasn't a question. Victoria blinked her pale blue-green eyes slowly.

"I assure you that I'm in the dark as to whatever you meant, Professor," she lied. He'd see through it, of course. That was the point. She had an idea, but frankness wasn't the best route to take when talking to Snape.

Besides, the irritation on his face was priceless. She doubted that anyone else - much less a student - had been able to ruffle his feathers as much or as often as she did.

"Ms. Savorgnan, do me a favor and stop playing dumb."

"A favor," she mused, "What do I get in return?"

"Information," he answered through clenched teeth. Victoria's countenance brightened up, but her eyes still held a degree of mockery.

"Hmm… I don't think I'll agree to that, _Professor_." Something about the way she said "Professor" made it sound degrading, like he was worth less than mud at the bottom of her shoe. Lucius Malfoy would've proud, she thought with a smirk. She didn't give a damn about the blond's opinion, however.

"It's a one-time offer."

"There isn't much about it that you know that I don't, Sir."

"What gave you that idea?"

Her answering smile was predatory. "Simply the fact that you were desperate enough to bribe me. If you knew as much as I did you could've filled in the blanks yourself."

"Ah, but you said that you didn't know what I was referring to."

"I lied," she shrugged. Snape turned purple in face. It looked like her spontaneous change between truth and lies annoyed him greatly.

He looked like he was going to say something, but all of a sudden he jumped up and said:

"Very well. You may go."

She turned on her heel and went out of the door, making sure to close it quietly. Nothing irritates more than calm.

Her meeting with the Professor cleared up a few points. One, he was acting separately from Dumbledore - for now. Two, she and Dumbledore were the only ones who knew the fate of the stone. And three, Snape did know something she didn't - but it wasn't something he was willing to share. Her bluff wasn't entirely useless.

For as long as she remembered, her insight into people was almost surreal. Every gesture, every word, even the subtle changes in tone told a story. It was a useful gift to have. _Especially_ here.

"Ms. Savorgnan!" _Why did everyone feel the need to bother her today?_

"Yes, Headmaster," she said, unable to completely block the irritated hiss out of her voice. Dumbledore didn't give any signs of noticing it, but she knew he was a good actor and an even better observer.

"I was wondering if you would like to join me for a cup of tea in my office. To talk things over." Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled. She felt an irrational sort of annoyance at the gesture.

"No thank you. There's a whole library of books I need to read." Regret at the choice of her words surged in quickly. She fought to keep it back. It was a Professor for Merlin's sake! Dumbledore couldn't force her into anything - it was her choice to either comply or not.

"Very well," he said, but his smile was strained. He turned around and left, disappearing around the corner. She was left alone.

Her body moved on its own accord. She took the stairs up to the Astronomy tower - the highest point of the castle - mechanically, and ignored the sign that said "No students allowed outside of class". It was the best spot for her in the moment. She needed to clear her head.

Up on the tower it was windy. Cold too; she enjoyed both. They made her thoughts less tangled, more linear, ready to fit into the little boxes her mind made up for them. Made things clear. There were complications in her life now, entanglements that she wasn't ready for. Voldemort for one. A crazed Dark Lord who lost the sight of his goals long ago, and now was paying for his mistakes. Or rather making everyone else pay for them. If they met again - and she would be a fool if she thought otherwise - she would not be left unscathed. It was like an ominous cloud hung over her life, always there, ready to strike lightning any moment.

And there were the two sides of her - the guarded pre-Hogwarts Victoria who was as afraid of getting caught using her powers as she was of ignoring them, and an equally guarded present day Victoria who had to watch every word she said and every move she made. The two facades couldn't co-exist - she'll go insane trying to juggle all the lies. There would be consequences for both a slip on her part, or a bit inquisitive behaviour on somebody else's. There was no avoiding them.

...Unless she takes off the mask completely and still somehow manages to hold up the fragile peace she had built for herself. But that wasn't likely at this stage - in a few years, maybe, but not now. Somewhere along the line an opportunity will come her way; yes, she'll just have be at the ready, always alert, on the lookout for it.

Satisfied with where her thoughts had led her, the witch skipped down the stairs two at a time. The last time she was here Filch had caught her. This time she turned invisible beforehand. The freedom that came with it was worth the energy it took to keep the spell up.

Downstairs was louder than she expected. A quick glance at her watch told her it was lunchtime already. That explained why there were so many people inside. She hurried into the girls' bathroom - the same one that she, Harry, and Ron fought the troll in - and removed the spell inside one of the stalls. As she passed by the mirror she noticed a flash of green in her reflection. A millisecond later it was gone. She drew nearer. Her face peered up at her from the ornate frame. Still… No. she shook it off - her eyes must've been playing tricks on her. Yes, that must've been it - just a trick of light.

But she couldn't stop the gnawing feeling in her stomach, the feeling that told her that she was missing something vital.

The Great Hall was as loud and boisterous as always. The students were excited by the end of the year, and they made it known. She didn't share the sentiment. Who wants to be stuck in a normal well-to-do _muggle _house instead of a magical castle?

"Why is Snape glaring at you? Did you raid his potions' cupboard?"

She turned to face the voice. He was an older-year student. Fifth-year, maybe?

"I don't have the slightest idea of what you're talking about," she answered with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

"Really?" the older boy raised his eyebrows.

"Do you always need everything to be repeated twice, or are you feeling particularly dim today?" she asked. In any other conversation it would've come across as rude, but with the Slytherins it was considered playful. One of her favourite things about her house was that they weren't touchy.

The older boy laughed. "I made an exception for you. Marcus Flint," he shook her hand. "You're _Victoria_, aren't you?"

The emphasis placed on her name was unnerving, but so was the fact that he knew to begin with. As far as she remembered they never spoke before.

"You're pretty well liked with the Quidditch team," he explained. "I'm the captain."

"I see."

And that was it for the conversation. Victoria moved over to where her friends sat, a bit further down the table, and spent the rest of lunch talking to them. She could tell that they were practically itching to ask her about what happened the night before, but they stayed silent, not wanting to breach the subject lest she does so herself. After lunch they parted, Theo, Draco, Daphne, and Pansy all going to the Commons, while Victoria went back to the library. The book on Animagi lay right where she dropped it - surprising, though come to think of it, never saw Madam Pince near the alcove. The witch picked it up and turned it over in her hands. The cover was worn and obviously old, black with golden etchings, the title printed in matching letters. The whole volume whispered promises to her. She had begun researching Animagi and preparing for the ritual over Christmas, but she had yet to do the actual thing. Was it worth doing it now?

No, it wasn't. Not when she only finished one year of schooling, her house was monitored for magical activity by the Ministry, and she had no back-up whatsoever. Later, definitely. Just not now.

ooOoo

The End-of-the-Year Feast was truly exciting. The Great Hall was draped in green and silver - in honor of the Slytherins' victory in the House Cup Tournament. Points were counted; Slytherin came first, Ravenclaw second, Hufflepuff third, and Gryffindor forth. Everyone at her table was beaming - though to the other houses they must've appeared as calm and icy as they always did. Dirty looks were thrown in their direction by Gryffindors - those were returned with glares chilling enough to turn a sensible individual to stone.

Of course, Gryffindors didn't classify as "sensible".

Draco Malfoy was drumming his fingers on his goblet of pumpkin juice - the one wizarding drink that Victoria still hasn't gotten used to. It was revolting: sweet to the point where it burned her throat, a mushy, slimy texture, and individual fibers floating around. No, thank you.

Daphne, Pansy, and Millie were chatting about a sleepover that the later was hosting. They invited Victoria, too, and she agreed, promising to meet the girls in Diagon Alley for a shopping trip and come with them afterward.

It even felt different inside the castle that day. The anticipation - or dread, in her case - were tangible in the air. Students and teachers alike were making plans for the summer, and not once did the matter of education come up in their conversations. It was a far cry from what dinners were usually like in Hogwarts.

Minutes before start Harry rushed in. He looked a little worse for wear; pale and with hair messier than ever, but a big smile was on his face. It faltered a little at all the green, but the joy of being out and about again won out in the end. He hurried to the Gryffindor table, earning a few curious glances and unintentionally granting Slytherins a break from all the glares sent their way. A few people got up and craned their necks to get a look of him.

Dumbledore walked up to the podium a minute later and announced the House Points as they stood. Slytherins - herself included - bursted into cheers as they were awarded first place. Even Snape looked less sullen than he normally did.

"However," Dumbledore began again, "There some events that have yet to be accounted for."

The Hall suddenly went silent. Victoria shared an uneasy glance with her friends. They all looked crestfallen: whatever Dumbledore planned didn't look good for them.

"To Mr. Ronald Weasley I award fifty points - for the best game of chess Hogwarts had seen in many years."

Pansy's mouth fell open. "He can't do this!" she whispered.

"To Mr. Neville Longbottom," _Longbottom_?! What does Longbottom have to do with anything? "For doing what's right and standing up to his friends I award another fifty points!"

Someone swore loudly. "Fifty points?! What the - "

"And lastly, to Mr. Harry Potter," Dumbledore's voice interrupted, "I award seventy points - for pure bravery and nerve!"

The decorations turned to an atrocious display of red and gold just as the Gryffindor table erupted in cheers. The Slytherins sat stunned too shocked to do anything. Victoria's fist feverishly clenched around her goblet of water, tendons sticking out. _This was going too far..._

Suddenly every single goblet on the Gryffindor table exploded in a shower of glass. Several people screamed; a second later all fell silent. The professors rose from their seats, Dumbledore was saying something. Victoria's eyes were frozen at the mess she'd made. A lapse in control. She hadn't had one since she was seven.

"Hey, are you feeling alright?" Daphne shook her shoulder.

Victoria turned toward her slowly. "Yes, I'm fine." Merlin, she was an idiot. To allow her emotions to get the better of her - it was just a school competition.

But it was a low blow still.

ooOoo

"Come on, we have five minutes," she said, glancing at her watch.

"Fine. Do you ever relax?" Theo asked. She scowled at him.

"We can't all be careless. Someone has take the reins."

Victoria, Theodore, Draco, Pansy, Daphne, and Millie entered their usual compartment and fell down onto the seats. The conversation was light, never straying to yesterday's events. Another thing she loved about Slytherins - they knew when to shut up. The time passed in a blur. It felt like minutes, not hours, had passed before she got out her trunk and said her goodbyes. Ron and Harry hadn't spoken to her since their adventure - some Gryffindors they were.

She passed through the barrier into the muggle world feeling like a caged bird. Summers used to be nice - a time to practice magic in the backyard and read as much as she wanted. Now they became the bane of her existence. Two entire months without using her wand.

She shook herself mentally. _Quit whining._ This kind of attitude wouldn't get her through the summer.

"Victoria!" Her head automatically turned toward the sound, and her face broke into a smile at the sight of her parents. She ran up to them and hugged them.

ooOoo

When she got home, a single maroon feather lay on her bed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:**

**It's been a while. I actually had this chapter finished months ago, but I went back and began editing everything I wrote before. I'm sorry. **

***hides***

**I don't own Harry Potter.**

YEAR TWO: VENOM

"Victoria!"

The said witch groaned, squinting her eyes at the bright morning light. "What time is it?" she mumbled, before turning over onto her stomach and burying her face in a pillow.

"Nine AM," her father said, amusement lacing his voice. Her mother laughed.

"It's your birthday, remember? Get up!" she said.

Victoria rubbed her eyes. It _was _her birthday - she was turning twelve. It suddenly occurred to her that she got one year closer to death. Cut it out, she told herself. Stress didn't aid longevity.

Her blanket was rudely torn off her, exposing her arms to cool air.

"Hey!" she screamed.

"Sorry," her mother said unapologetically. "Are you going to open your presents or not? I have to say these friends of yours sure spend a lot of money on you."

Victoria opened her eyes a little wider, noticing, for the first time, a gigantic pile of presents at the side of her bed.

"Figures. They are the wizarding equivalent of royalty," she said and hopped off the bed. Her parents were much the same as the ones she got for Christmas: books, clothes, and various magical items of dubious origin, including a lovely little jeweled box that had a number of complex anti-theft charms on it. The fact that it recognized its owner by their blood made it "dark". Utterly ridiculous, in her opinion.

A letter awaited her downstairs; it was like the last year's school list, except that this time most of the books were written by someone named Gilderoy Lockhart.

She had breakfast with her parents, after which they dropped her off at Diagon Alley to meet her friends. It was empty, very few people were muling about the street, rushing hurriedly if they did do. Daphne, Pansy, and Millicent greeted her near Florean Fortescue's - an ice cream place not to far from the Leaky Cauldron. The two venues couldn't have been more different, however. Where Fortescue's was light and airy, the Leaky Cauldron was grimy, cramped, and on the whole unpleasant.

They each ordered an ice cream and settled down in the seats in front of the store.

"So," Pansy began once she finished her sherbert, "What's the plan for today?"

"Bookstore, then Madam Malkin's. We'll figure out the rest as we go," Victoria told her. Pansy nodded.

"Yes, I'd like that. Imagine how long we would have to wait in line for Lockhart's books if we came later," she sighed, staring dreamily into space. What on Earth has gotten into her?

"Pansy?" she snapped her fingers in front of the girl's face. She came to her senses, looking startled and blushing deeply. Daphne and Millicent started giggling madly.

"Hey! You can't blame me - you have his autograph under your pillow!" Pansy pointed an accusing finger at Millicent.

"I do not!" the other girl protested, cheeks reddening.

"Yes, you do!" Daphne sputtered in between giggles. Millicent scowled at her.

"Well, I know you keep looking at that Witch Weekly article about him all the time since it came out!" she said smugly. Pansy burst out laughing - again.

"Fine, point taken," Daphne resigned. "What about you, Victoria?" she asked the other witch curiously. Victoria stared back at them blankly.

"Sorry. Not a fan," she said, wondering just who this Lockhart person was.

"WHAT!" her three companions yelled out simultaneously, attracting the attention of several passersby. Victoria gave them a pointed look.

"A bit louder, please. I don't think everyone in Hogwarts heard you," she said.

"Sorry," Millicent said, realizing how loud they were. "It's just… I mean Lockhart is so…"

"I got it, Millicent," Victoria replied dryly. "You really shouldn't finish that sentence."

They finished their ice cream and finally got to to the business. The bookstore - Flourish and Blotts - was uncharacteristically quiet. No students stumbling around, no workers running about to bring up fresh textbooks: on Tuesday afternoon the shop was empty. Even the clerk was sitting slumped behind her desk, eyes aimlessly wandering over a Daily Prophet. She didn't even turn her head their way when they entered.

The girls went up to the front display, where textbooks were laid out. Victoria took one of Lockhart's required books - _Voyages with Vampires_ \- in her hands and skimmed through the pages, snorting loudly after a few moments and earning a stern look from the clerk.

_Winner of Witch Weekly's most charming smile… _

She wondered just who the hell their teacher was.

Shoving down a mix of irritation and amusement, Victoria grabbed the other required textbooks and walked up to the register. Feeling grateful for having foresight to apply a featherlight charm to her bookbag back in school, she gathered her purchases and left.

The girls were waiting outside:

"Malkin's next," Daphne said cheerfully.

Victoria hummed in reply and the four of them set off. It really was strange, she mused, for the Alley to be so empty. _Too strange_.

Suspicion rose in her at the sight of an old, hunched over wizard scurrying away after catching her eye. His dull, watery blue eyes were fearful. Her own pair narrowed. She nudged Daphne in the ribs.

"Go on. I'll catch up with you later," she whispered. Ignoring Daphne's bewildered look, Victoria noiselessly slid into a shadowy alcove. The old man was clearly visible from there. He hurried past Gringotts looking over his shoulder just as her friends entered Madam Malkin's. Victoria breathed a sigh of relief as he kept going in the same direction as before - the wizard didn't notice her. She followed him until he made a sharp turn onto a different street. A grimy, crooked sign hung on one of the grimy, crooked buildings. _Knockturn Alley._

Out of all the places…

Victoria backed out of the alcove she stood in and hurried back to the girls. She wasn't a Gryffindor - rushing into a death trap on impulse wasn't her forte. Thank Merin. The witch was rather fond of living.

Victoria met up with her group just outside of Madame Malkin's. Disregarding their pointed looks, Victoria mouthed "later" at them and went in. She didn't actually need another pair of robes - half her presents were exactly that - but she was good company to have around when shopping. She waited, occasionally throwing in a knut when asked for, while the other witches were measured and fitted for their own uniforms.

The next three days were spent in the Bulstrode Estate, courtesy of Millicent. Her home was smaller than that of the Malfoy's - if a mansion could even be considered _small_. It was less garish too, with a slightly lighter color scheme.

Nonetheless the library was incredible.

One night after Victoria got home - about a week after her birthday - she was lying in her bed, finishing a volume on ancient runes she borrowed from Millicent's library. It was, as customary for all pureblood households, old.

She sighed, stretching, and rose to put the book away. Salazar, she missed Hogwarts.

Not an arm's distance away from the bookshelf, her foot slipped and she fell with a yelp.

"Oh, what the…" she mumbled, rubbing her ribs from where the collided with the floor.

Then she noticed a small black journal lying next to her, in a pile of books she got earlier that week and didn't have enough room to keep on the shelves. It's leather cover was unembellished save for a name done in peeling gold leaf.

_T. M. Riddle_

Riddle was not a pureblood name. But the journal excluded powerful magic, similar to some of the darker relics she knew about, yet something about it was… off. It wasn't blood magic - it was, unexplainably, stronger.

And that made no sense whatsoever.

Victoria's hand hovered over the journal. Usually cursed objects that physically impacted their victims had one obvious sign - they attracted them. Curses that impacted the mind were much more subtle.

There was no draw to the journal. Just that strange magic bleeding through, moving almost as if it was sentient.

Victoria picked it up and turned to the first page.

It was blank. Actually, she found, the whole thing didn't have a word written in it.

Victoria pushed open the door of the second year Slytherins' compartment thirty minutes into the ride to Hogwarts.

"... Father said -" Draco broke off at the sound of the door opening.

"Where were you?" Millie asked curiously. Victoria gave her a blank stare.

"Trying to find the Golden Boys," she answered, using her nickname for Potter and Weasley youngest. "Apparently Hannah Abbott saw the Weasleys ringing bells all over the platform because they lost these two morons. They weren't on the train, and Daily Prophet just came in with a picture of a flying car that belongs to Arthur Weasley."

"No way!" Draco leaned in, excited. "You think that they'll get expelled after this?"

"Nope," Victoria said, popping the 'p'. "They are Dumbledore's favourites - he wouldn't do a thing," _even if they commited murder right under that crooked nose of his_, she added silently.

"Killjoy," Blaze muttered.

"You're welcome anytime."

"As I was saying before you rudely interrupted," Draco began, and Victoria shot him a glare, "Father told me that fifty years ago the Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Some mud- muggleborn," he caught himself, remembering what Victoria said about self-preservation, "Was found dead. The Board was pushing to close the school, but the attacks didn't repeat ever again and the case stalled."

"And?" Millicent wondered skeptically.

"_And_, Father told me -"

At this point Victoria attempted to drown out her housemates chatter with a book - _Hogwarts, A History_ seemed wonderful at that moment. She pulled out her trunk from beneath the bench and rifled through the books.

Among them was a plain black journal. She just couldn't leave it at her house - not only was it a powerful magical object, but it was also a complete mystery. A _riddle_. And what better place is there to look for answers than Hogwarts?

The Start-of-Term Feast had just begun, and students were piling their plates high with delicious dishes, talking animatedly all the while. It was one of the rare few times when every single house chatted about the same exact thing - Gilderoy Lockhart, their new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.

Victoria sat at the Slytherin table, cutting her steak.

"He's so… I mean look at the _hair_!" fourth-year Maranne Woodsworth whispered loudly to her friends a few seats down.

"I know," one of them whispered back, not bothering to turn the volume down. Victoria scoffed quietly. What can Lockhart possibly teach them - how to style hair? Because _of course_, that's such an important skill to have - _surely_, it'll help in a duel.

Severus Snape paced the Headmaster's office.

"The boy is getting out of hand, Albus," he said and kept on pacing.

"You're going to walk a hole into the floor, Severus," Dumbledore spoke calmly, his blue eyes - _his annoying, obnoxious, infuriating blue eyes_ \- serene. To say that Severus disliked the man would be an understatement. He respected the wizard, but in his heart of hearts he may have hated him more than his former master.

The Dark Lord was a liar, a manipulator, and a monster, but at least everyone's come to expect that from him.

"_Potter_," Severus insisted, "Is turning into his father. He's disobedient and rude, and has no respect for everything that's been sacrificed for him!"

"If you ever bother spending some time with Harry, you'll find that he's a lot more like his mother," Albus said, with a holier-than-thou expression on his face.

From where he sat on his golden perch, Fawkes uttered a cry and burst into flames.

**Author's Note: **

**Please review. I need reviews - they're the only thing keeping this story alive. Honestly I knew it wouldn't get a lot of attention from the start - there is no romance or fighting at this point. But, I felt it was super important to build Victoria's character. There will actually be a lot more deviations from the canon during second year and the rest of the story, and believe me, there are a lot of things to look forward to.**

**Also there will be romance and fighting fourth year and onward. Hang tight:)**

**Salazara**


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:**

**I will start uploading edited chapters soon. There won't be any major differences - I just fixed mechanical errors.**

**BUT in the new version, Victoria told Slytherins that she was adopted by muggles, leaving them to assume (because they are blood supremacists and she's a powerful witch) that she had to be at least halfblood. She IS a muggleborn. She's NOT actually adopted. But since her housemates are blood elitists, they will eat up any lie she says because the alternative is admitting that their beliefs are wrong. So, either way, it's a win for her.**

**This will not affect the existing plot.**

**I (obviously) don't own Harry Potter. **

**This is one of my favourite chapters so far:)**

Professor Snape, Victoria noticed, was especially sour that day. Not only did he insult the Golden Boys five times in as many minutes and took twenty points from Gryffindor by the end of class, he also snapped at Malfoy, albeit only once.

Even the howler Weasley got over breakfast didn't seem to improve his mood.

Charms were a definite improvement over Potions. Victoria always loved the class - mainly because it was chaotic, and thus provided an opportunity for errant spells to hit their unsuspecting targets without any consequences for the caster.

This time, they were learning the Dancing Feet Spell.

"... so Arthur Weaseley nearly got fired over 'illegal use of magic on muggle technology', but of course one of Dumbledore's stepped in, and he got off. No punishment whatsoever. Father nearly lost it - _especially_ after what happened this summer," Draco told the group as his spell hit some poor Hufflepuff.

"What happened this summer?" Victoria asked curiously from where she lounged in her seat and fired off a series of her own spells, all of them meeting their targets. Professor Flitwick ran about the classroom hectically in a futile attempt to find the culprit.

"You don't know? Arthur Weasely attacked Lucius Malfoy in Flourish and Blotts, right as Lockhart was presenting a new book. Half the people in Diagon Alley saw it, and the other half had heard of it within an hour," Pansy said. "Poor Mr. Malfoy, having to fight off that filth."

Victoria could bet that _poor Mr. Malfoy_ was responsible for the fight starting in the first place.

…

Victoria looked from the question on her paper "_What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?_" to the blond, turquoise robed man in the front of the classroom, and wondered what the hell had prompted Dumbledore to hire him.

Closing her eyes for a moment, the witch went back to her paper. _Favorite color, favorite color…_

After a few seconds of futile attempts to recall everything Pansy ever said about the wizard, she simply chose the option that seemed most pompous. She had skimmed through all of his required novels, but the only thing she remembered was that the Professor had an overly-inflated ego.

The rest of the class dragged by at an excruciatingly slow pace.

The witch kept glancing at the clock, and when the bell finally rang, she was one of the first people to leave.

…

Victoria stretched in her favorite library alcove, glancing at the clock. On her right lay an unassuming Potions textbook and a completed two-foot essay on the uses of bat spleen in brewing. On her left was a far less innocent book she may or may not have snaked out of the Restricted Section.

It was open to a chapter titled "Sentience in Cursed Objects", complete with an image of some poor wizard being (literally) sucked into a garish piece of jewelry.

Victoria was glaring daggers at the thing. No-thing. Not a single line in that whole Merlin-forsaken tome came even close to describing the pulsating, living magic of the journal.

She shut the book with a loud snap.

Her other lead was the name - T. M. Riddle. But this one might be even murkier. Assuming she combs through dozens of yearbooks and somehow finds this individual, she'll be no closer to finding just _what _the journal was.

It might, however, narrow down the search. Either way, it was worth a try, if only because there was nothing else to be done.

So, Victoria went to the rarely used yearbook section and began going through each and every one of them, starting with class of 1990 and getting as far as 1975.

She didn't expect to get so caught up in the task. It was just so interesting to see her classmates parents and relatives, their faces so similar to their present-day counterparts, and yet having drastically different personalities. There was an Abbot in Ravenclaw, and a boy who _had_ to be a cousin to the Weaselys in Hufflepuff.

The only house to have all the same names in it was Slytherin.

It was eight o'clock before she knew it, and an angry-looking Madam Pince shooed her out of the library with a stern warning that if she ever catches her after closing hour again, she will assign a detention.

When Victoria got back to the Common Room, it was stuffy and crowded - as if the entire Slytherin population decided to take up all the sofas around the fire. The few that didn't sat in chairs throughout the room, trying very hard not to look like they were listening in.

She pushed her way through the masses and did a double take. An unmistakable head of platinum hair peeked above some seated fifth-year's shoulder. It was attached to dark green quidditch robes.

"Can you believe this?" a familiar voice spoke.

"He's the new seeker," she deduced, "What did he get his father to do _this time_?"

"Daddy bought the whole team Nimbuses 2001, Drake got the spot," Blaise said, tossing a fat golden galleon in one hand. "He's not even _that _good."

"He's not that bad either," Victoria refuted. "Better than last year's — what's his name?"

"Rowle."

"Better than Rowle. At least Draco can tell apart one end of the broom from another," she said, snickering at the memory of the beefy seventh-year flying _backward_.

"Well, now that you put it this way…"

"SAVORGNAN!"

"The sudden shout of her name efficiently silenced the crowd and turning everyone's heads to her like compass needles. Marcus Flint, a sixth-year and the Quidditch team captain, walked toward her with a parchment in his hands.

"Snape asked to give you this," he said handing her the note. "Dunno why."

Victoria nodded her thanks and read it silently.

"What is it?" Blaise asked.

"Snape wants me to come to his office Friday, eight-thirty pm sharp," Victoria said in disbelief.

Blaise narrowed his eyes. "He never speaks with students. _What did you do_?"

"I guess I'll find out Friday."

…

The next morning, a bleary-eyed Victoria picked at her porridge over breakfast. A letter from her parents lay safely in her bag - she never opened them in front of her housemates - and "_Voyages with Vampires"_ lay open on her lap. Even as a writer, Lockhart was a disappointment. He could've at least made it not sound like he was bragging, but alas, bragging was all he did.

Someone slumped into the seat next to her.

"Mornin' 'Toria," Blaise mumbled, equally sleepy, and reached for a jug of pumpkin juice.

"That's not my name," she mumbled back.

"Whatever 'Toria."

"Pass me the chocolate - no, the 100% cocoa one. You know I hate milk chocolate."

Blaise tossed her the bar. She bit into it, savouring the delicious bitterness and strong chocolate flavour. Blaise made a face - a "cultured pureblood" version of a face, anyway.

"How do you eat that stuff?" he asked, nodding at the sugar-free, _everything but cocoa free _thing in her hand.

"Everyone has different tastes," she said. "Mine just happen to be more uncommon."

She finished her breakfast, shut the sorry excuse of a book Lockhart made them read, and left for Transfiguration.

Mere yards away from the corridor, a heavy form collided with her.

"Omph!"

Victoria ended up sprawled on the ground, shaking herself like an angry cat, while Harry _bloody_ Potter - it was _always _him - was next to her on all fours, muttering something that might've been an apology. The contents of her and the Gryffindor's bags were stern all over the floor in a two-foot radius.

"Clumsy as ever, Potter," she hissed as she got to her feet and began salvaging any papers that weren't stained with ink from shattered ink bottles. "Watch where you're going - you _are_ capable of that, right?"

After showing everything ink-free back into her back, and collecting everything else into a thick stack that she'll have to spell clean, Victoria threw one last, chilling glare Potter's way, and finally made it to the classroom.

She didn't notice that a black journal was missing until much later that night.

…

Ginny Weasly knew that stealing was bad. But she wasn't _stealing _\- _not really_, and the when she saw the small black book in the mess that was Harry Potter's homework, she simply couldn't help it. He wasn't there, and her brothers were _terrible _to her again, and the girls in her dorm were just so _mean _\- so, she took it. She was going to give it back, really.

But she never did.

_Hello, Ginny._

_My name is Tom Riddle._

…

"Potter!"

Harry turned around, startled by the unmistakable sound of Victoria's voice.

"I want my journal back," she said without preamble, tilting her head to the side like a snake when seeing a potential prey item.

Confused, he furrowed his brow. "What are you talking about?"

"Small black book, leather cover, blank."

Harry's confused expression deepened. "I don't have it. Maybe you just misplaced it?"

She seemed to search for something in his face, and whatever it was she must've found it, because a moment later her expression softened slightly.

"Or," she said thoughtfully, "Maybe you did."

…

_Tom Marvolo Riddle, Headboy, May 1945_

Victoria brought the old yearbook closer to her face, studying the blurry image of the journal's owner. Blurry or not, it was striking how good-looking and almost Lockhart-like he was. Not in his appearance per se, but in the polished perfection which she assumed was a forty's thing. The wizard in the photo had sharp cheekbones, dark eyes, and wavy black hair that Maranne Woodsworth and her idiot gang of girls would kill for.

There was nothing else she could find on him. Just this one photo; he wasn't in any books on famous wizards of the past century, he wasn't even in the ministry records. It was as if the name was erased from history.

This, of course, only served to pique her interest.

People didn't just… vanish. There were always traces, some forms of records, _something _that allowed them to be tracked. Not Riddle though. And the strangest thing was that he was still alive - he had to be, for how else could the magic and his journal be _alive_. And since he was, he must've been living under a different name.

It brought her back to square one.

Frustrated, the witch got out her Transfiguration textbook and began polishing off a three foot long essay on nonliving to living transformations.

"Oh!"

Victoria's head snapped up toward the sound. A small red haired girl that was obviously another Weasley — how many of them were there anyway — stood in _her_ alcove, six inches away from her face, staring at her snake-emblazoned robes with an expression of pure disgust. She clutched a few small books in her arms.

"I didn't think anyone would be here," she explained, "And… erm, a friend told me about this alcove and I thought…"

"Who's your friend?" the witch interrupted.

"Oh, it's… just someone from my house," the girl stammered, looking around as if she was worried Victoria would suddenly turn into the Slytherin mascot and eat her.

"Sorry. This spot is taken," Victoria said in her good girl voice, hoping to coax the girl into getting the hell out of her personal space.

The youngest Weasley left without an argument. Victoria leaned back into the cushions, her stuck mind on the strange encounter.

Something seemed off.

Who was this _friend_? In all her time at Hogwarts no one ever took the spot and she was there every day. Maybe the other girl found it herself — but why would she lie about it then? And why was she so fidgety?

Chalking it up to the Weasleys' prejudice against everyone Slytherin, the witch went back to her work, making sure to leave the library before curfew and avoid another run-in with Madam Pince, who it seemed, was growing more and more irritable with each day she spent yelling at yet another pair of idiots who thought the library was as good a place as any for an impromptu make out session.

Victoria walked through corridor leading to the Slytherin Common Room, a windowless passage deep within the school's dungeons, lit, like the rest of the school, with flickering torches, that despite being very much alike to a muggle horror movie scene never scared her.

Until now, that is.

Because she heard a disembodied voice coming from the walls, and that voice said only one word, over and over again.

_Kill_.

Whether it was a stuid prank or a particularly dramatic ghost, Victoria didn't stop to find out. No, she did the smart, safe thing, and sprinted at record speed all the way to the disguised entrance to the Common Room, roughly barking out the password - "Sacred Twenty Eight" - and not daring to turn around until the wall slid in place behind her.

That night she got very little sleep, so naturally she was about as friendly as a saw-scaled viper next morning.

No getting enough sleep plagued her all day long, which happened to be the day she had to meet with Snape, and considering that anything involving the professor required mass amounts of energy and a clear head, there really couldn't have been a worse time for it.

Victoria knocked on the professor's door just as the clock struck eight thirty. It swung open on its own accord, revealing a sparsely furnished office with a few bookshelves and a large ebony desk in the center. Behind it sat a scowling Professor Snape.

"Ms. Savorgnan," he greeted flatly.

"Professor."

There were no chairs in the office, save for the one Snape took up, so Victoria was left with no choice but to stand in front of the desk.

"Do you know why you're here?"

"No, sir."

Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose in a suggestion of irritation, because Merlin forbid he has to speak with a student. "You were in Diagon Alley on your birthday, weren't you?"

Victoria, not seeing where this was going at all, kept her answers minimal. "Yes, Professor."

"And did you see anything out of the ordinary while you were there?"

_Yes_. The strange, hunched old wizard that moved from one dark corner to another and disappeared down Knockturn Alley, which in itself is rather suspicious, and added to the fact that he had done so right after catching her eye, downright incriminating. She should tell Snape that.

But her instincts told her to lie. To not get involved.

And Victoria trusted her instincts.

"_No_."

**Please review!**

**As of 2/15/20 the first three chapters have been updated.**

**Thank you so much for reading this monstrosity of mine:)**

**Salazara**


	13. Chapter 13

**I don't own Harry Potter. Clearly.**

**This chapter was such a pain to write. Oh my god, I thought I'll never finish - which is funny, because the chapter before this took less time but went much smoother. **

**To top it off, this has a whole mountain of stuff happening that is super important and that will be referenced over and over, so yeah… fanfics can be stressful.**

**Aaaand I'm rambling. Again. **

**Thank you so much to all the wonderful, amazing readers who reviewed - you are the best. I can go on and on about how grateful I am that you took your time to leave them, and I still won't be able to thank you enough:)**

**Salazara**

She was going to kill Lockhart.

When her test score came back near perfect, and that moron of a teacher actually had the audacity to smile at her and say what good student she was to read all of his books so thoroughly in front of the whole class, Victoria wanted to throttle him right there and then.

Instead she smiled sweetly, lowered her lashes, and murmured a polite thank you.

But the final straw was when two weeks into the year, Lockhart decided to give them a practical lesson. It's not that Victoria didn't want a practical - she did, but coming from Lockhart… she couldn't help but think it would go terribly.

It did.

"Can anyone wager a guess of what is in there?" he asked the class, gesturing widely at the covered cage. Victoria kept her hand down and sunk in her back row sit a little. The problem was, Lockhart actually liked her. Whether it was the test, or he simply was so enamoured with himself that it extended to everyone with golden-blonde hair, but it seemed that she became a favorite.

The ironic thing was that in any other class it would've been a good thing.

"Ms. Savorgnan?"

_Damn it._ "Fairies, sir?" she answered, doing her best to not sound like she'd rather be anywhere else but there.

"Close. I present to you - Cornish Pixies!" Lockhart said in a tone one would use to announce the presence of a dragon, ripping of the sheet to reveal a cage full of little blue creatures the length of a pinkie finger.

Someone snickered. It set of a chain reaction, but even the sound of the whole class' mocking laughter did very little to affect Lockhart. If anything, he seemed to appear more smug.

Before she had time to dwell on the impossibility of _that_, the professor spoke again.

"They may seem harmless, but they are pesky little creatures, and they love wrecking havoc. Your task," he said, moving toward the door, "Is to stop them in any way you can. Ready?"

Without witing for an answer, he waved his wand at the cage.

In the thirty minutes it took Victoria to find a large enough time window to cast a freezing charm, five people had gotten concussions, three had broken limbs, and one was sobbing hysterically and had to be restrained by a furious Madame Pomfrey.

Everyone else got away with a pint of ink on their heads, bruises from dozens of thrown copies of "Magical Me", and scratches from the shattered chandelier. Lockhart himself was no where to be found.

He's carrion, Victoria thought as Pomfrey pulled out a particularly long shard of glass from her arm and covered the wound with dittany. She grit her teeth at the sting.

Pomfrey patted her back soothingly, murmuring something that sounded a lot like a string of elaborate death threats directed at the Defence Professor, and waved her wand over the puncture, knitting skin and muscle together seamlessly. Victoria flexed her arm experimentally; it was a little sore but otherwise fine. Almost like it felt after a flu shot.

"Thank you," she said, getting up from the bed.

"You're welcome, dear," Pomfrey said, smiling at her, and rushed off to aid another patient.

…

Next morning in Potions Victoria was working with Draco and his two goons. She knew they were Crabbe and Goyle, but she had no idea which one was which, and frankly, had no desire to find out.

"Get me the ingredients, and _for the love of Merlin_ don't come within _a foot_ of the cauldron," she hissed at them, and handed Draco one of her silver knifes - he made it a habit to forget his every other class.

"Harsh," he said, impressed, as his bodyguards left.

Victoria scoffed. "Don't get me wrong, but it's the only way to deal with them without failing the class, and _forgive me_ if I'm putting my grade over their feelings - _and _they have to deal with you daily, anyway. I'm pretty sure they've grown desensitized to it."

The water was boiling by the time the two retarded products of inbreeding got back. Victoria couldn't bring herself to feel bad for them - they weren't good people, and whether it was nature or nurture, she was dreading them getting older. They were like two volatile bombs, and anyone who has the mind to, can decide when, where, and how they will go off.

The potion was coming along well, even with Snape breathing down their necks and causing Crabbe and Goyle to shift, and drop things, and stammer, and act like two shifty rats - scratch, that, _jellyfish_, they were due to finish on time.

Victoria entrusted them with stirring the cauldron while she prepared bat spleen and Draco chopped dead spiders. She put the ingredients on one cutting board, noticing somewhere in the back of her mind that the potion was not _quite _the right shade of lilac, but proceeded to gingerly swipe them off the board anyway.

And then the cauldron exploded. Not like Longbottom's explosions, _no_, this thing set on fire, and set the table on fire, and set _them _on fire.

Victoria had a funny reaction to flames. When she was younger, and her parents weren't in immediate vicinity, she would sometimes light a match, literally pick the fire off its tip, and hold it, making it grow bigger or smaller. It always, always, turned green when her fingers touched it, and it didn't burn her.

This time wasn't any different.

As Snape doused the fire with his wand, and Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were screaming, their hands and faces pink and raw, Victoria stood there, unharmed, wondering if she put out her flames fast enough or if the professor noticed them.

As their eyes met, she saw something so strange, so foreign, pass over his face for a moment that she was reluctant to trust her eyes. It was _fear_.

But then his face was back to its usual dispassionate mask, and he was yelling at them, before promptly shoeing Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle to the Hospital Wing.

"I'll escort them," Victoria said.

"No," Snape barked roughly, and as Victoria glanced between him, herself, and the three retreating wizards, part confused, part scared, the bell rang shrilly.

"Savorgnan, stay," the professor said coldly.

She reluctantly tore her sights from the door, and turned to face him, getting a nightmare flashback to all the times spent in the counselor's office.

"Yes, Professor?"

Snape folded his hands behind his back and began pacing, never going more than three feet in one direction. "Were there any magical ancestors in your family? Wizards, squibs, anyone strange?" he asked, staring into her eyes as he kept pacing.

"No, sir. None" Victoria answered quickly.

"Are you quiet sure? Were there perhaps any… stories you've heard?"

An unexplained headache was blossoming in her temples, and the pacing didn't help. "No, Professor. Everyone is muggle, everyone has perfectly clear backgrounds. Check the ministry records, sir."

"Records can be falsified."

"Oh, and a twelve-year old's testimony is the most reliable thing ever," slipped from her tongue before her mind caught up.

"Savorgnan!"

"I… _apologize… _sir," she said snidely. Merlin, her head was going to burst. "I just don't see the point of this questioning."

"You don't have to. Your job is to answer."

"_You_ don't like my answers. What does my family have to do with… whatever this is?"

Snape stopped pacing. "Do you know what you just did?"

"Saved myself a trip to the infirmary," Victoria said flatly.

"_Don't sass me!_"

That, for once, was not her intention. "What do you want me to say? I don't understand what's going on - is something wrong with me?"

"The truth, Savorgnan. I want the truth."

"_How_ am I supposed to tell you the truth when I don't even know what I should be _thinking _of? Why don't you tell me what's happening?"

This was turning into an interrogation. Victoria was fighting back angry tears, and god, her head was _killing _her - it was as if someone was burrowing through her memory, and she didn't know what was going on - not with the questions, and not with the phantom pain that greatly resembled what happened in Dumbledore's office a year ago.

And Victoria hated not knowing above all else.

…

It was the very next day that the precarious, half-crumbling balance in her life came crashing down abruptly, and in a cruel twist of fate, it happened when she was in the library - her sacred place.

"You aren't, are you?"

Victoria's head snapped up so quickly it hurt her neck, and she crumbled the letter in her hand into a tight ball, accidently making shallow cuts along the tips of her thumb and index finger with the parchment edges.

"Orphaned, I mean," Theo clarified.

Victoria, heart beating fast as a hummingbird's wings but appearing as chill as ever, arched an eyebrow.

"And what, prey tell makes you think that?" she asked, her tone so confident and mocking that Theodore almost, _almost _believed it.

"You're reading a letter from your parents. Not what I would expect from someone who doesn't say a word about them."

Victoria stood up, and although he was a good five inches taller, she stared him down.

"Careful, Theodore. No one will believe you - and I'll make them turn their backs on you, _bloodtraitor_."

He took one step back and held his hands up in a gesture of peace.

"Do you always assume the worst of people?"

Victoria's eyes glittered with something dark and chilling. "I have to," she said simply and walked off, head high.

Theo stared after her for a long time.

…

_Bloody hell._

She should've known. Nott was smart, observant, quiet - exactly the kind of person who missed nothing, exactly the kind of person to nose around the library. And now he knew, and she bluffed - because, really, what are the odds that any blood puritist would think she was muggleborn after all was said and done?

But what are the odds that they'll take her word over his?

With a groan, Victoria leaned her forehead against one of the sinks. It hadn't been two years yet, and her future was already hanging in someone else's power - and she had no idea where he stood.

Sometimes she wished she could influence people's minds like she did with animals.

"Whatever happened to you?" a nasal, annoying voice spoke, seemingly out of nowhere. Victoria jumped a foot, hitting her head on the edge of the sink with a muffled "omph".

The girl - or rather the ghost - giggled. "You know, you look terrible," she said cheerily. "Like you've just seen a boggart."

Victoria's jaw fell open.

"Who are you?" she asked flatly, rubbing the back of her head.

The ghost huffed. "Myrtle Warren, for your information. Dis someone say something to you? Because when I was in school this girl, Olive Hornby, was so rude to me, I came here to cry every day!"

"Does it look like I'm crying to you?"

The ghost burst into loud sobs. "Of course you just came here to be - _hic _\- awful! You're like all of them - here to laugh at the ugly Moaning Myrtle, with her pimples and her pigtails - _hic_! You, mean, mean girl!"

"Bit dramatic, aren't you?" Victoria asked, eyebrows arched high.

With a particularly loud shriek, Myrtle dove into one of the toilets, crying loudly all the while. Victoria stared after her, bewildered by all the effort the ghost went through to make herself miserable.

"Myrtle?" she asked, but only received sobs in response.

_Bloody hell._

…

Theo didn't talk.

Dinner that day, and meals for the rest of the week were absolutely normal, even if Victoria's muscles were a little too tense, and she spent a little too long cutting her steak into perfect cubes trying to hide it.

That is, until Friday.

"'Toria?"

"For the love of Merlin, Blaise, stop calling me 'Toria!" she said, setting down her fork and knife with a clang, and glaring pointedly at him.

"You've been staring at the wall like it held all the universe's secrets. It's freaky. And you'll chop off your fingers by accident if you keep doing it."

Victoria rolled her eyes. "No, I won't."

"You will."

"I won't."

"You will."

"_Seriously?_"

With a sigh, she got up, told the group she was going to the library before it closed at eight. To her surprise, Theo got up too.

"I'll go with you. I have to finish Flitwick's essay."

They walked together in silence until, when they were in the empty library corridor, Theo spoke.

"I'm not going to tell anyone, you know. Heck, I never bought into the blood status crap in the first place. I mean I see why you would lie, but just - look, you can trust me. I know it's hard for you, and -"

"You're rambling."

"Am I? Sorry. I… I just want you to know that I won't tell anyone."

Victoria turned on him sharply.

"I want to. I _really _want to. But try seeing this from my perspective for a moment. There is one thing that keeps me from being trampled by the people I live with for most of the year, and that one thing is now in your hands. And there is nothing solid that keeps you from talking. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or even in the next year, but someday you can."

Theo sighed. "I'm not trying to win any favours here. If you can't trust me - fine. But I won't tell on you. I thought that's something you should know."

"We'll see."

But despite her chilly attitude that night, by the time she went to bed, Victoria breathed a little more easily.

**Please review. :)**


	14. Chapter 14

**I don't own Harry Potter**

It wasn't uncommon for Victoria to disappear at odd hours of the night. The first time Theo noticed it happen was last April, when he woke up in cold sweat at three in the morning, remembering that he never got to finish his Potions essay. Bleary-eyed, he started looking for it, and when that didn't work, he fished out a clean piece of parchment and a quill from his bag, and went to the Common Room. When he got there, he remembered that he didn't grab his textbook, so he went back to the boys' dormitory, and then again to the Common Room, where he scared himself half to death when he saw a dark, silent figure move through the room with surreal smoothness. It reminded him of a picture of a dementor he saw in one of his father's books when he was a child. The image stuck with him then, and he never touched the book since.

Theo stood in his pajamas, clutching _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _like a lifeline, frozen in fear. That is, until the measeley light cast by the fire illuminated the figure's face.

It was Victoria. She was dressed in her school robes and cloak, hood up, and without saying _anything _to him, or even so much as _looking _at him, she made her way to the girls' dorm.

Next morning, Theo wondered if it was just a weird dream his not-quite-awake mind conjured up. He tried to catch her eye several times over breakfast, and when he did, the look she gave him was clear of anything sketchy.

But then it happened again, a month later, when Theo was up late, reading, at saw her return from wherever she was at two in the morning. Once again, Victoria ignored him.

He didn't confront her.

This pattern continued well into this year, and so, when Theo saw her leave that Thursday night, he wasn't surprised, but rather tempted to break the pretend game and wish her luck, just to get some kind of reaction from her.

The realization that Victoria Savorgnan, Slytherin extraordinaire, was a muggleborn was a gradual one. Perhaps it started because after his mother's death, his father Theodore Nott Sr. became a total wack job, and forgot to teach his son the importance of blood status. Thus Theo wasn't quite the fanatic that Malfoy or Parkinson were, and his eyes were open to possibilities.

He noticed how she never threw away her parents' letters, but stashed them in her bag. He noticed how she chose to spend Christmas and summer with them. And he noticed that whenever the topic of blood came up (which, considering their company was a very common occurrence), her fingers would twitch ever-so-slightly, and her eyes would flare an intense, poisonous green before she composed herself.

The decision to throw his knowledge in her face was impulsive. Even knowing her, the viciousness with which she hissed threats at him was a shock. But what did he expect? She was used to living in a world where everyone was against her. He _couldn't _hold it against her; he _wouldn't_.

…

"_Bombarda Maxima!" _

A jet of red light left her wand and blasted the poor log it was trained on into smithers.

"_Reparo!"_ Victoria said, jabbing her wand at the pieces as they assembled back together.

"_Expulso!"_

The log shuddered and flew ten feet away from where it lay with a loud thud, that went unheard by anyone thanks to a generous number of silencing charms. _Unbelievable_. It was absolutely _unbelievable_!

"_Alarte Ascendare!"_

Snape, that bloody _git _was frolicking inside _her _brain, plucking _her _memories, _her _thoughts - the log was roughly thrown in the air, so high that it touched the upper branches of a nearby yew - like they were his for the taking!

The log fell, raising a cloud of dust.

Legilimency. It was called legilimency. She looked into mind arts when she was at the library earlier that day, confirming her half-formed suspicions. It was how she got animals to do what she wanted them to do without training. It was what Snape, and what Dumbledore both did to her, the former on a regular basis, the latter only once.

The sky seemed to roar with fury. A storm was brewing.

Victoria sighed deeply, removing a small, nondescript vial from a dark box she brought with her. Inside was a murky, grayish potion, made with a mandrake leaf, soaked in her mouth for a month and brought directly under the light of a full moon on the last day of the process, a strand of her hair, a teaspoon of dew that haven't seen sunlight in seven days, and a Death-head Hawk Moth chrysalis.

All she needed was lightning.

As if in answer, the first rumble of thunder shook the air. Victoria lifted the vial into the air. Another rumble came, and in the distance, clouds lit up. After that, for a few short seconds, it was quiet.

Then with a mighty roar, the sky seemed to crack open as a bolt of lightning shot through the clouds, painting the world white as it sped toward her — no, _the vial_ in her hand. Everything seemed to slow as the forceful jet approached.

_Amato Animo Animato Animagus_

Next thing she knew, she was lying on the ground, a stone digging painfully into her back. Her hand was still closed around the fragile glass. Shifting a little, Victoria brought it in front of her face.

The potion inside was blood-red.

And she laughed. Laughed like it was the funniest thing ever, because she was only twelve, and this was believed to be one of the hardest pieces of Transfiguration. Laughed, because there are only a dozen or so animagi in the world. Laughed, because the punishment for illegal transformations is a life sentence in Azkaban. Laughed, because she was a muggleborn, and she was never more proud of it. Laughed until her pale cheeks were pink — she never blushed — until her eyes were glassy with tears — she never cried either — and she was so happy she was drunk on it.

Finally pulling herself together some five minutes later, Victoria got up and uncorked the vial, and drowned it in one gulp.

It was the vilest thing that ever touched her tongue. She clammed one hand over her mouth, trying not to gag, and ran the other down her neck, pressing slightly to force the potion down her throat.

In hindsight, she should've brought some water.

The slightest nudge made her magic, poised as it was already, to transform. It wasn't strictly painful, but it wasn't pleasurable either. It was something in between: unique, sharp, and overwhelming.

Her animagus form was a snake. A snake that in a parody of a cobra's hood, had flaps of skin that, although completely unnoticeable when closed, opened to reveal large membranous wings.

And she flew, serpentine body writhing elegantly over the turrets of the castle she called home, over the towers and the spires, and when she landed, sleek and graceful like a true naja, she slithered through the halls, a silent shadow, freer than she ever thought was possible.

Even in her animagi form, Victoria Savorgnan worn her magic like a secret badge of honor.

…

"_What did you do?!_"

Pansy huffed, probably thinking that it made her sound regal, though it sounded more like she had a cold. "I made your hair curly. It looks so adorable! You _have _to give it a try - literally I mean. The spell doesn't wear off for a few weeks."

Victoria made a vague chocking noise that was somewhere between a cough and a sob. She actually had curly hair when she was born, but when she was about four she got sick of tangles and her locks had mysteriously turned into sleek, barely-there beach waves overnight

"It does look cute on you," Pansy insisted. "Doesn't she look cute, Daphne?"

Daphne, who was trying to write two essays at the same time, nodded her approval without looking up.

Pansy beamed. "See?"

Oh, she did. She saw a headful of pain that she would have to make presentable every morning, which required time, and… well, she really wasn't a morning person. Though to be fair, it really did look nice.

"Right. We're ten minutes late to the feast already. That's twenty by the time we make it up there," she said, hopping off the pouffe she occupied during Pansy's… experiment. "Snape will have our heads."

"Oh, stop fussing! It's fine - I don't know why he's so weird about you after that potions thing - by the way, when are you going to tell us what happened? - but all the other teachers love you. We'll be fine," Pansy said, smoothing her own hair in the mirror. "There. _Now _we can go."

"Great," Victoria said, pulling the girl away from the said object by the collar of her robes. "Now we are _going_."

They left the dorm talking about hair, nails, and a dozen other mundane things in an ironic prelude to what was about to unfold just minutes after. It came unexpectedly in a form of a somewhat familiar voice that Victoria personally felt she could go without hearing again.

_Kill._

With a sharp intake of breath the witch came to a sudden halt.

"Did you hear that?" she asked, in a voice that sounded far too calm even to her own ears, looking at the walls in attempts to pin down the exact location of the sound. Where there hollows in the stone, or more likely, did it come from the pipes?

"Heard what?" Daphne asked, looking at her questioningly.

_Kill. Kill. Kill, kill, kill…_

"Strange," Victoria murmured as her heartbeat sped up to match the rhythm of the whispers. "I just thought I heard someone speak."

Daphne rolled her eyes "We're in a castle full of students. Of course someone's speaking. Someone's _always _speaking!"

_Not in death threats, and not from within the sewer._

Whatever, or whoever this was - it was not a student, and it wasn't just some silly prank. Victoria's mind filled up with vivid images of three-headed dogs, Devil's Snare, flaming phoenixes, potions, flying keys, and giant chess sets.

"ARGH!"

Victoria's eyes zoned in sharply on Pansy, who was spread flat on the ground, her hair disheveled, glaring at the retreating form of a small redhead.

It was Ginny Weasley.

"I swear to Merlin, this is the second time the little rat crashed into me!" Pansy sputtered shrilly as she got up and rubbed her back. "I'm done with her. If she can't walk down an empty hallway, she shouldn't be here in the first place!"

While Pansy was layering it on a bit thick, there was a grain of truth to it. Ginny was oddly fidgety and clumsy, constantly walking into people, falling, tripping down the stairs. And it wasn't normal clumsiness either. For some reason, she made Victoria think of a scared rabbit running for its life.

When the three witches finally got to the Great Hall, twenty-five minutes after the Halloween Feast had started, thus earning a few glares from the professors, they hurried to take their seats.

"What happened to your hair?" Blaise asked first thing.

Victoria narrowed her eyes at him. "Pansy happened," she said, stabbing her fork into a piece of roasted chicken.

Blaize burst out laughing, and the black-haired girl smacked him on the arm. "Stop it! Her hair looks great!"

"Sure, sure - it's just _Victoria _and curls…" the rest of the sentence drowned out in a fit of poorly concealed laughter, and Pansy went on reprimanding him, clearly having taken his reaction personally. These two couldn't be in the same room for an hour without fighting ever since Pansy developed an obvious crush on him, and Blaise began to exploit it mercilessly. Their row got louder, and five minutes in they forgot what it was they were bickering over, and reduced to screaming insults at each other.

Eventually one of the prefects had to intervene, threatening to take points and assign them detentions.

The conversation turned to more sensible topics, and by the time the feast ended and the group left the Great Hall, everything was normal, though Blaise and Pansy still refused to look at each other. But the thing in the walls that seemed to have a sinister goal, the strange actions of Ginny Weaseley and Professor Snape, even the man she saw running toward Knockturn Alley clouded Victoria's thoughts even as she smiled and chattered on. Something was brewing.

When they left the feast and pushed their way through the crowded halls, it quickly became apparent that the floor was flooded.

"Peeves?" Draco asked offhandedly, toeing the edge of the water with his shoe.

"Or Moaning Myrtle," Victoria offered, and took out her wand, murmuring a quick spell. The water disappeared immediately.

"Magic in the corridors. You know, you just broke a rule."

"I can make it come back. You know, I'd love to see you walk through a swamp," Victoria said as the crowd moved forward, "but I suppose a puddle of toilet contents would do."

Draco looked like he was going to be sick. "Please don't."

Someone ahead of them gasped. The Slytherins heads immediately turned toward the sound, and they began to slowly inch through the frozen student body as the front lines began to whisper in panicked, high-pitched tones.

A few seconds later, they saw why.

"Is that - is it _dead_?" Blaize said breathily, staring at the body of Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, hanging by its tail from a torch holder. But Victoria's eyes were aimed higher.

"Look. Up." she said, intoning each world separately in a calm way that seemed so out of place in that moment, because there, written in something red, were the words:

_The chamber of secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir… beware_

And beneath that, right in the middle of the scene, surrounded by a circle of students, stood Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

…

**Please Review!**

**I tried so hard to explain what Victoria's animagi form looks like, and I still feel like it's not a good enough description. So if you're wondering, look up king cobra pictures. The wings acts a lot like the hood - when closed they are basically invisible, but when open they form a hood and slowly begin to detach from her body until you can tell they're wings. **

**Or just look up pictures of winged snakes on pinterest.**

**In the AU of this fic, winged serpents are an existing magical species. **

**Thank you to everyone who had read this story so far, and to everyone who left reviews. **

**Salazara**


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note:**

**I don't own Harry Potter. **

Whispers rolled through the student body, but whether these ended in a confrontation or not, Victoria didn't stay to find out. Oh no, _she_ fled the scene as fast as her legs would carry her.

Anyone with half a brain could tell that Potter and Weasley weren't responsible. It just so happened that the former had the worst luck and dragged the latter down with him. After all, they were _Gryffindors_. If legend was to be believed, the Chamber of Secrets could only be opened by the heir of _Slytherin_.

And that voice in the pipes. It was moving, and it was moving in the direction where Mrs. Norris was found. But that didn't make sense either. The cat looked like rigor mortis had already set in, and that didn't happen for three to four hours after death - in humans, at least. She wasn't sure about cats. So was Mrs. Norris dead for that long, and her body had been moved to the corridor, or did something else happen to her?

Victoria leaned toward the latter. Which is why, upon reaching her dorm, she reached for the rarely used copy of _Most Macabre Monstrosities_, and began flipping through the pages quickly. Slytherin's monster had to be a snake (what else), and there was one particular creature that fit the description far too well.

The Basilisk.

There, on page seven-hundred-seventy-seven was a detailed sketch of a large serpent with bulbous yellow eyes, followed by a lengthy description.

"_Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land -"_ now wasn't that reassuring " _\- there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken's egg, hatched beneath a toad. It's methods of killing are most wondrous -" _you don't say "_\- for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death." _Even better. "_Spiders flee before a Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of a rooster, which is fatal to it."_

It went on to speculate that if the victim had indirect eye-contact with the serpent - _like a reflection in a pool of bath water_ \- the said victim may survive, but get petrified instead.

Had this _wondrous _critter not been out free and threatening to murder students, she would've thought it to be incredibly interesting.

In an awful way, reading this made Victoria feel safe. The victim must've been handpicked by the so-called heir, and it wasn't a teacher because they've all been at school for years, and Lockhart, the newbie, didn't have the guts in him to do anything of this sort. And he was a Ravenclaw. Since none of the students knew about her heritage, she'll be fine.

_Except for Theo._

That sobered her up quickly. Merlin, she had to think of something else before she went mad from paranoia.

But her mind wasn't cooperating, and it kept coming back to the voice in the walls. Parseltongue couldn't be learned. It was something few witches and wizards were _born _with, and all of them in Salazar Slytherin's bloodline. It couldn't be learned. It couldn't even be a result of an animagi transformation. She absolutely could not be his heir. Not unless one of her ancestors centuries ago was, and she got the gene - which was impossible, because biological heredity didn't work like that.

_How tragic_, a mocking voice in her mind whispered. _A witch who doesn't believe in magic_.

With a groan, Victoria fell back onto her bed, staring at the murky waters above as she contemplated what to do next. There were blood rituals that could trace wizarding ancestry, but they were considered dark. Not exactly something she'd find at school. That meant she had to either a) ask Malfoy for a specific book, or b) persuade his parents to let her visit so she use their library. The latter would be more productive. The former would spare her from Narcissa Malfoy's pampering.

And then a very obvious idea hit her. So obvious in fact, that she was utterly ashamed that it took so long to grasp it.

While books on dark magic were strictly banned, books on history were not. She could waltz into the Hogwarts library any time and go through all the books detailing the members of every family that was a part of the Sacred Twenty Eight. Surely, even the tiniest relation to Slytherin, direct or not, would've been flaunted.

"Victoria? Oh Merlin, you're here!"

Pansy and Daphne ran inside, shutting the door behind them, and fell on either side of her.

"Don't pull the disappearing act on us again," Pansy said - _screeched_, more like it. "You missed all the fun! Snape started farming Potty and his pet Weasel for the writing on the wall! Unbelievable, isn't it?"

Victoria hummed.

"I mean they are _Gryffindors_," Pansy added, echoing the thought Victoria had no too long ago. "And it's not like they have the brains for it -" _oh, and you do _"- I mean, Potter is a _halfblood_, and Weasley is… a _Weasley_."

"Exactly," Victoria said, barely keeping her voice sarcasm-free. "But who would do it? Who's the _heir_?"

Pansy shrugged, but Daphne opened her mouth as if to say something before shutting it at the other girl's glare with an audible snap. Victoria's interest piqued.

"What is it?" she asked, her authoritative voice working miracles. When Victoria spoke, people listened. And when she had a question, it didn't stay unanswered for long.

"Well," Daphne began uncertainly. "Draco mentioned something this summer… He said that in 1943 the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, and a mudblood died. _Anyway_, a third year Gryffindor was framed, and the heir remained free. Draco's grandfather was at Hogwarts when it happened, and he knew who was responsible. And Lucius Malfoy was at Diagon Alley the day we were there, but Draco didn't tell why. I don't think he knows himself."

Pansy looked at her nails stubbornly. "He didn't want you to know," she said, refusing to meet her gaze.

"So I gathered. Care to tell me why?" Victoria asked, surprised at how much Draco's apparent betrayal stung. Not that she didn't expect it, but still…

"I have no idea who the heir is," Pansy said clenching her fists, "But Lucius Malfoy was the Dark Lord's right hand, and he has his sources. Whatever it was that he was doing - you're in the middle of it, Victoria. And when things happen… Just be on your guard. And know that I'm on your side."

"So am I," Daphne echoed quietly. "But this is on your hands now."

…

Victoria set aside _The Pure-Blood Directory_ and crossed off 'Selwyn' from the list of surviving families and moved on to the 'extinct/imprisoned' majority. _The Pure-Blood Directory_, much to her growing paranoia, was written by one Cantankerus Nott some sixty years prior.

It didn't take long to cross out Blacks (whose only surviving members there were in Azkaban) and move on to the Gaunts.

She got through the first paragraph when it became apparent that the family stood out like sore thumbs. If the Blacks were mad about blood-status, they had nothing on the Gaunts.

Aside from the vilest inbreeding she had encountered, this line was poorer than anyone on the list. All of their fortune was gone by the start of nineteenth century, and the only things left were heirlooms rumored to have belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself, though the author stressed that it had never been proven.

Victoria didn't read into the details of the Gaunts' _glorious _(not her words) past, and flipped to the last page, which listed the members alive in the 1930's.

_Marvolo Gaunt, b. c. 1880, Little Hangleton_

Victoria's heart skipped a beat. _Marvolo_. She knew that name.

Quickly, she pulled out school records. Marvolo Gaunt would've been old enough to be Tom Riddle's grandfather (purebloods married young) and if he had a rebellious daughter it would explain the change in surname.

_Tom M. Riddle, b. 1927, Wool's Orphanage, London_

He was at Hogwarts in 1943. When the Chamber opened and a muggleborn girl died. If he had children, they certainly weren't at Hogwarts.

But he had to be in his sixties now. Sure, wizards aged slow, but still, he wouldn't be able to pass for a student, and with teachers out of the equation, there were only two possibilities. One, he was using Polyjuice Potion to look like someone else. Two, he did what Voldemort did with Quirrell: possessed someone.

At this point, her train of thought went off the rails.

When she first heard the name Voldemort, her mind immediately jumped to it's French meaning: Vol-de-mort. Flight-of-death. And it never mattered, because aside from symbolism the words held no weight. But it was this that allowed her to catch that first 'Vol'.

Like Mar_vol_o.

Frantic, she snatched up a sheet of parchment and began putting together the letters, one by one.

D and E in Riddle. M, O, and T in Tom. Another O in Marvolo. I, A, and M.

_What are the odds?_

…

Draco Malfoy was sitting under the vast canopy of a tree, looking over his Potions essay one last time. Theo was next to him, similarly preoccupied. Both boys failed to notice a two-foot long noodle watching them with slitted pupils and eerily familiar eyes.

Victoria was perched on a branch directly over their unsuspecting heads. Her green scales would've stood out amidst the brown, dead leaves, but it was foggy and overcast to the point where it hard to see any further than a foot away from your nose.

"Do you know who did it?" Theo asked suddenly, tapping his quill against the parchment.

Although Victoria couldn't see his expression, she was sure Draco rolled his eyes. "No. All I know is that Father knows. He wouldn't tell me - thinks I'm going to talk."

The witch-turned-snake flicked her tongue lasily. Nope. Not lying.

"But you have to know _something_. Your Father -"

"My father has his ways," Draco cut off. "I'm not saying it again - I don't know anything except what I told you before. I don't know who the heir is. I don't know what's his - Father did say he - plan is. I don't know who's next. And I sure don't know what Victoria has to do with this."

"You don't think he's after her, do you?"

_After I snatched immortality from him? Yes, actually._

Draco barked out a laugh. "Victoria? She's a Slytherin, Theo. She wouldn't be a Slytherin if she was a mudblood."

_You have no idea._

"I'm not saying that she is. Just… Forget it. How are things going with Weasley?"

"He searched the Manor twice already. Didn't find anything, of course, but we have a room in the basement full of stuff for dark arts. It's warded with blood magic too."

"Of course. You know, you aren't doing a good job being a confidant here."

"Merlin. It's not like you didn't know. Your Father knew my Father since birth."

"That's not the point."

"I disagree."

"We aren't at a Wizargamot hearing here."

Seeing that the conversation wasn't going anywhere useful, Victoria slowly lowered herself to the ground, slithering to the nearest niche to turn back into her human form.

"'Morning boys," she said brightly as she walked past them. "Breakfast is about to start."

Theo looked at her oddly. "Aren't we chipper today."

"I took two Pepper-Up potions this morning. I'm not chipper - I'm having spontaneous bursts of energy that will stop as soon as Binns says 'goblin rebellion of 1234'."

"There was a goblin rebellion in 1234?"

"When _wasn't _there a goblin rebellion?"

Theo laughed. "Touche. I can't stand that class."

"Really?" Victoria gasped in mock-horror. "It's one of my _favorites_."

"How would you know? All you ever do there is sleep."

"That's exactly why I like it."

Draco kept shaking his head slowly during the whole exchange. "I can't wrap my mind around it. You're unconscious the whole time, you never take notes, you never study, and somehow you get perfect grades."

"I read all the textbooks during the summer, and summaries before the exams."

"And you still remember all of that by the end of the year?"

Victoria nodded. "I have a good memory. Besides, that's only useful for History and Potions. Transfiguration is just logic - you don't need the formula if you can figure it out on spot, Defense is instinctual - and it's not like we do anything there. Charms are easy. You don't need a textbook to move plants from pot to pot in Herbology."

"You're crazier than my aunt Bella," Draco said disbelievingly.

"I doubt that," Victoria replied, remembering the picture of the screaming woman behind Azkaban bars. Bellatrix Lestrange, follower of Lord Voldemort. _Thank you, Draco._

Victoria took a seat across from Daphne when they got to the Great Hall, saying her hellos as she reached for the sausage. The other girl gave her a small smile as she nibbled on some toast.

"You seem chipper," she said.

"So I've been told," Victoria inclined her head toward the Gryffindor table. "Do you know what happened to the Golden Two?"

Daphne's smile was positively savage. "They? _Ooh_, Millicent told me that she heard from Tracey Davis, who heard it from Maranne Woodsworth, who heard it from Marcus Flint, who heard it at a prefect meeting that Professor Snape was trying to frame Potter for the attacks and say that Weasley was an accomplice, which is _nonsense_, but Dumbledore did the whole 'innocent until proven guilty thing' and they got off. Didn't even loose points for not being at the Feast!"

Victoria refrained from pointing out that neither did they.

"Now mind you, no one but Dumbledore and Snape themselves know why they were in the corridor, but the theory is they were heading to their tower from _somewhere_. Millicent said it was the Forbidden Forest, but I don't think so. They're still alive, aren't they?"

"Unfortunately," Victoria said, sipping her water to keep the amusement out of her voice. Every other person on the table - hell, probably in the whole Hall - had pumpkin juice, but she couldn't stand the stuff. It was too sweet, too thick, and too chunky. How they got it to go down their throats, she had no idea.

The bell rang then, dismissing them for their first class. _Defence_.

"Wonder what Lockhart has to say about this," Victoria said, pulling the strap of her bag over her shoulder. No one felt the need to clarify what _this_ was.

"Reassure us that nothing will happen as long he's here," Draco came up behind them. "And comfort us with another tale of the beasts he slayed."

"Draco!" Daphne chided. "They're not tales. He's actually done these things."

"He couldn't handle _pixies_, and I've never seen perform anything harder that a levitation charm," Victoria pointed out. "I'm sure _these things_ were done by _someone_. I'm also sure it wasn't Lockhart."

"He gave us an opportunity to practice."

"How many spells did you throw at the pixies?"

Daphne blushed. "I'm just not good at Defense."

"You _just _didn't know the right spell, and he _just _failed to teach to us."

The other girl huffed, but didn't press the issue. Draco looked at Victoria admirably. "You know, you could be a lawyer."

"Thanks."

**Please keep reviews coming, because I make no promises not to hold any more chapters hostage. **

***hides***

**\- Salazara**


	16. Chapter 16

**I don't own Harry Potter. All credit belongs to J.K. Rowling. No money is being made from this.**

"_Serpensortia!"_

The snake that burst from the tip of her wand was a common viper. It's body was short, perhaps sixteen inches long, and stocky, its scales not far in color from the dirty grey-brown tiles.

Its unblinking eyes were fixed on her.

They weren't menacing, or angry. They were completely void of emotion, ocular scales giving them an odd, almost alien sheen. Vertical pupils crossed the irises like black stiletto daggers.

Victoria let out an exhale, feeling incredibly stupid. A snake. _Honestly_. She had to be wrong. Muggleborns couldn't talk to snakes; anything she heard had to be purely consequential. Yes, yes, that was it.

Still, her heart was in her throat, and her wand-arm was trembling with a sick mix of fear and excitement, and she realized she _wanted_ to prove herself wrong.

The girls' bathroom on the second floor was a great spot to do something incriminating in. No one in their right mind would want to be in Myrtle's vicinity. Scratch that. Just no one, period. The ghost was quiet a handful, and her idea of amusement was driving the rare company half-mad with wails.

But Myrtle had her uses.

After the ever-sobbing specter flushed herself down the toilet, she left Victoria an entire room completely free of witnesses, while the threat of her presence was enough to discourage even the noisiest of students from barging in.

The snake's body coiled, ready to spring. What would one say to an animal like that? _Hi, how are you_, didn't seem to be appropriate.

Victoria stared back at the snake, hoping it would start hissing and solve her dilemma on its own, but the creature kept mum. It was deceptively still, though it could strike faster than an eye could blink. It was a good thing she didn't conjure a deadlier, more exotic specimen.

The snake reared its triangular head, venom glands on the sides of its face prominent, and Victoria did the only thing she could think of.

She told it to stop.

Only it was a long, low hiss that left her mouth, not speech. Or rather, not human speech. The sound sent chills down her back, smooth and raspy, flat and full of feeling at once. It was beautiful, and it flowed like a song of an ancient rite.

"_You speak?"_ the snake hissed, lowering its body and slithering forward methodically. Its tongue flickered in and out of sight, and this intimidating creature which would send most screaming, began to look almost… _cute_. Victoria slowly crouched, not wanting to scare the animal that just began to warm up to her.

"_I speak."_

The snake slithered into her lap, enjoying the heat after the cool touch of the tile on its belly. "_You're one of us,"_ it said simply, like stating a fact. Victoria, remembering her animagi form, let out a short, affirmative hiss.

She wouldn't know it until much later, but the snake had something else on its mind.

…

Victoria didn't have the heart to vanish the little viper (who had fallen asleep curled up under her robes), so she gave her the directions out of the castle, the snake's color and its small size letting it blend in with the floor and avoid detection.

Not a minute after, Myrtle popped her head from the toilet.

"Still here, are you?" she said, sniffing loudly.

Victoria didn't bother replying to the ghost. She turned the faucet on and splashed her face with generous handfuls of ice-cold water. The billowing sleeves of her standard Hogwarts robes were heavy with wetness, but she didn't care enough to cast a drying charm.

In the cracked mirror a grim, pale face stared back.

This was absurd. It felt like life was spiraling entirely out of control and the logical grounds she stood on (which, in the magical world, were iffy at best) had disappeared from under her feet and left her hanging mid-air.

She was not adopted. It wasn't denial talking; anyone who had seen her and her parents could tell what they were to each other. She had her mother's face shape, her jutting cheekbones. She had her father's eyebrows, his mile-long jet-black eyelashes, and small lips.

They would've told her if there was anything. Victoria didn't trust people as per rule, but she trusted them that much. No, there was something else at play here.

"You look like Tom when you do that. He was older when I met him, but he used to stare into space so intently. All the girls were in love with him - Olive Hornby -"

"Tom? _Tom Riddle_?"

Sure it was a common name, especially back when Myrtle lived, but she was grasping at straws here.

Myrtle's pensive mask fell for a moment, revealing surprise. Behind her eyeglasses, the ghost's eyes were wide as saucers. "You know him?"

"I've heard of him. He was the Head Boy in 1945, right?"

Myrtle huffed wetly, settling on the toilet seat like it was a throne. "I suppose he was. I was dead for two years then, and the Ministry put a restraining order because I wouldn't leave Olive -"

_Two years ago. _1943_. Malfoy said a mudblood died in 1943._

"- alone. You know, I died right here, in this stall, because that little prat was laughing at my acne, and I came here to cry."

Victoria tried not too look too eager. For once, she needed Myrtle in a good mood. "What happened next?"

"I died," the ghost said simply. "Well, I was crying, and that I heard someone speak. It was a _boy_. I didn't catch what he was saying, but I poked my head out of the door to tell him to leave, and that I'll tell Dippet if he ever noses around girls' lavatory again, and then there were these two huge yellow eyes - right about where you're standing," Myrtle pointed her transparent finger at the row of sinks - "and that was it."

She looked very pleased with herself.

Victoria turned around. There was the mirror, the sink she used right below that, gold paint flaking off the faucet -

It was so tiny she almost missed it. A delicate craving of a snake, rough in texture and blackened with time, grime, and poorly maintained preservation charms, but still there, in the exact shape of the Slytherin crest, its jaws open wide in triumph.

Victoria backed away.

"Thanks, Myrtle," she said, and ran out, pushing past a tired-looking Ginny Weasley in the otherwise empty corridor.

…

"You weren't at the game," Draco said by the way of greeting.

Victoria, her eyes dull, black bruises lining them, blinked slowly at the boy. "Oh, that. I was busy. How did it go?" she asked half-heartedly, turning another page of thick tome that covered her lap. She seemed to be drowning in the musty parchment.

Draco snorted. "You would have loved it. Someone set a bludger on Potter - I swear it wasn't me" he said, and Victoria didn't doubt him. He wouldn't keep his mouth shut about it if he did. Neither would she, for that matter. "It broke broke his arm."

"Did we win?"

Draco looked down at his shoes, perfectly polished as always, as if they suddenly became very interesting. "No."

"Then why on Earth would I love it?"

Blaise, who was standing behind Draco, tried to cover up his laughter with a cough. "Lockhart," he deadpanned, "deboned his arm."

Victoria's eyebrows shot up.

"Nice to know. I'll make sure not to break my arm around him."

Draco and Blaise shared a long look before taking spots on the couch on either side of her. She stared back and them, still clutching the book. Her hands had curled into a mimicry of claws a long time ago, and the force with which she pressed them into the pages left little indents in the old parchment.

Draco attempted to pry the book from her, to no avail. The muscles in her hands might as well have turned to bone.

Sighing, he gave up on the endeavor, leaning into the soft green cushions and rubbing his face in the most un-Malfoy-like gesture she had ever seen him do.

"You've been here for the past twenty hours. Sooner or later you'll have to put that book down before you starve to death. You look awful. I've never seen you so," he waved his arm at her as if his was unable to pinpoint a specific thing, "messed up before."

"Thanks," she said hollowly, dislodging her fingers enough to turn another page before they locked into place again.

On her right, Blaise frowned. "What Draco means to say is: what are you up to?"

The witch ignored him. Seeing something in the book, her spine straightened suddenly. "Do you know anything about blood-type wards?"

It was impossible to tell who she was addressing, but Draco opened his mouth first: "There's a ward on the Manor that doesn't let mudbloods pass, and a few others that were used when -" he broke off suddenly.

Victoria felt as though a bucket of ice-water had been dumped on her shoulders.

"Oh…" she said, before pulling herself together, "Since they can only recognize blood types, do you think there any ways they can be tricked? How sensitive are they?"

Draco looked at her blankly. "I have absolutely no idea how they work."

"Well, I'm telling you that's how they work," Victoria barked, shutting the book with a disdainful glance. As much as she didn't want to believe in blood, it did matter. Muggleborn, half-blood, pureblood, muggle - these were _blood types_, as much as the medical A, B, AB, and O. They didn't determine how strong ones magic was - they were just different kinds of magic, with their own unique signatures.

Which begged the question: how did she pass through the Malfoy Manor wards?

…

Collin Creevy was found petrified the next day.

…

Severus rubbed his temples tiredly. The dungeon room, his private lab, was even deeper in the bowels of the castle than the Slytherin dormitories, dark and bare, save for a few shelves stocked with books and what could have been a small apothecary in its own right, long tables and the cauldrons set atop them. The fumes of various potions hung thickly in the humid air. It smelled of old parchment and various herbs, decaying flesh and cloying poisons.

The delicate scent of lilies should not have been so overwhelming, but, he mused, nothing can block the draw of Amortentia. The fragrance was stronger than anything else, and it was deadlier to him than the Drought of Living Death brewing in a nearby cauldron.

He made it for his six-year class, and for two days now, he couldn't bring himself to dispose of it.

"Professor?" a muffled voice came from the door. When he didn't respond, there was a particularly loud sound, almost like whoever was on the other side had kicked the door in exasperation.

As much as it was an act of vandalism, it succeeded in drawing Severus into present moment long enough to put the lid back on the cauldron. With a flick of his wand, the door swung open.

Victoria Savorgnan strode in, looking very damn well like she owned the place, and the general expression of disappointment on her face strongly reminded him of the times he cowered before his Master, waiting for approval that rarely came. It was foreign on the face of a second-year, but it fit _her_. He was different when he came to Hogwarts: timid and quiet. She was a polar opposite, and with a sort of morbid curiosity, Snape wondered just how far the girl could go given time.

"Professor Lockhart found himself in a crisis today - I think he ran out of hair gel - so he promoted me to being his errand-girl, and asked me to give you this," she said, handing him a roll of parchment that despite being tied neatly, showed signs of meddling with. Severus mentally cursed the moron for not placing protective charms on potentially confidential information and handing it to Savorgnan, of all the people. "Collin Creevy was attacked last night, and Professor Lockhart requested a special order on revival potions."

Severus arched an eyebrow. "Lockhart requested it?"

"I suppose he wanted to feel involved. Especially since he's done himself no favors lately."

Savorgnan's eyes strayed to the cauldrons. "Is that Veritaseum?" she asked, drifting closer to the table.

"Don't!" Severus snapped, freezing the girl in her tracks,"Touch anything."

"I wasn't going to, but thank you for the warning," she murmured, craning her neck to get a better look at the transparent liquid inside.

Severus's arm shot out lighting fast, pulling her away from the table by her shoulder. She stumbled, struggling with surprising strength for someone so small, and her hands flailed, accidentally brushing over one of the cauldrons with enough force for the lid to slide open.

His hand on her shoulder loosened. The warm perfume of lilies dispersed through the room, filling every nook with its sweet, soft aroma.

The girl turned around to face him. "Sir?" No response. She snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Sir?"

"Close the lid," he hissed, blinking quickly, the way a sleepy person often does. She did as bid.

Severus came back to his senses abruptly, startlingly even. Savorgnan was staring at him openly, probably wondering if he lost it.

_Wait. Why was she so calm?_

Any witch's or wizard's first encounter with Amortentia is the most powerful. He had to pull away a few of his own six-years away from the cauldron, not before casting a discrete bubblehead charm on himself. No one is immune to its effects.

No one, except for the little freak in front of him.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, knowing full well that any of his second-years knew the answer it would be her.

"No," she said slowly. "Contrary to the popular belief, I am not a walking encyclopedia. Are you… alright, Professor?"

"Yes. Did you smell anything when the lid was open?"

"That depends on why are you asking."

"Don't be insolent, Savorgnan. Did you smell anything at all?"

"No. Nothing. Are you sure you are fine, sir?"

"_Get out."_

…

"First a squib's cat, now a mudblood. Cheers to the Heir!"

"To the heir!" they echoed, raising their butterbeer high in the air before drowning it to the bottom.

Victoria joined in. It would look suspicious if she didn't, and she didn't have the grounds to preach high moral values to begin with. She could twist, and shape, and mold. She could make people believe her more than they believed themselves by dangling things they wanted over their heads. And Victoria had something on them now. She could get them to see, slowly, step after step, but she could. She would.

"To Lord Voldemort," she whispered, lifting her drink. "To Myrtle Warren. To everyone whose lives he ruined."

…

**A very much anticipated Tom/Victoria encounter is coming in the next chapter. **

**What do you think about Victoria's resistance to Amortentia and her parseltongue. I'd love to hear your theories.**

**On that note, are there any particular relationships you want me to explore. I'm thinking of gradually setting up Snape as a mentor figure, but I'm not sure about friendships yet. Theo? Blaise? Draco? Pansy? Daphne? Someone from another house?**

**Thank you so much for your reviews. They are amazing and I am honestly shocked at how many positive responses this story got. **

**Salazara**


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note:**

**I'm back, and I have no excuses to make, other than the fact that it's quarantine and I feel like I might die from boredom. Tell me how it is where you live. **

**I don't own Harry Potter. All credit belongs to J. K. Rowling. **

She had no name to go off of. Only the potion's distinct mother of pearl sheen and scentless — to her at least — fumes that rose above the cauldron in strange swirls. It was beautiful, if a fluid can be considered that. Like liquid diamonds. _Or mercury._

The copy of _Moste Potente Potions_ was obtained through Lockhart, who was quick to turn into a malleable fool with just a little flattery. She could have snuck past the librarian like she usually did, but looking for something specific in the Restricted Section where the shelves and their contents had no order whatsoever would have been a waste of time and effort. Not to mention, the books there tended to shout, wail, and bite trespassers. _No, thank you_.

_Moste Potente Potions_ proved to be a fascinating read. There were detailed illustrations of each potion as well as their effects, including a particularly gory image of some unlucky wizard being turned inside out covering two pages. It was a moving picture too. The attention put into it made her wonder if the author actually dosed someone to draw it.

She stared at the picture for too long, an odd mixture of curiosity and disgust churning in her gut. Shaking herself out of her stupor, Victoria flipped to the next page carefully, yellowed parchment brittle under her fingertips, as if it would fall apart if her touch was as anything more than featherlight. Though there were probably so many preservation charms on it she could chuck it into the fire and it'll come out without a single scorch mark.

_Amortentia, the world's strongest love potion is also perhaps the most dangerous one. Love cannot be mimicked; Amortentia creates obsession. It has an endless potential: it can create an army acting in one name, as long as the subjects are dosed regularly. Amortentia is clear, with a unique sheen that is often said to resemble mother-of-pearl. It's fumes are a fanciful thing, their form and smell depending entirely on one's desires. Most describe it as an alluring bouquet of their favorite scents: a lover's hair, chocolate, crisp sea breeze, etc. The fumes themselves can be addictive, and it is advised the reader uses a bubble head charm when in vicinity of this potion. Users must exercise extreme caution as it had been noted that any children conceived under the influence of Amortentia display no emotion, though this had never been officially proven. Perhaps the imprisonment of Gallius Wilder, Head of the Department of Mysteries in 1534 for illegal sales of Amortentia at an underground market in Knockturn Alley and his subsequent release one day later can shed some light on why most of Amortentia's dangers remain shrouded in mystery… _

"Victoria?"

She spun around at the sound of a familiar voice. "Yes, Theodore. Do you need something?" she said. It sounded more like "Go away while you still can". The book was open in her lap, a perfect rendering of a cauldron full of Amortentia, its fumes swirling in the air above, covered one of the pages.

The dark haired boy looked at her with carefully shuttered eyes. "A muggleborn was petrified. Collin Creevy, Gryffindor first year."

"So I heard," Victoria said flatly. _Let's not go there._

Theo looked around to see if any was close enough to overhear. This was a conversation best held in private. Victoria rolled her eyes at his antics like he was a particularly slow child, and cast a silencing charm, shielding them in a quiet bubble.

Theo cleared his throat, staring at her wand with a little jealousy. He was one of the best students in their year, but she was at another level entirely. "_You_ are a muggleborn. There is a soon-to-be-murderer walking through this school, and I don't think it's a stretch to say -"

"What if I told you I know who the heir is?"

" - that they - WHAT?!"

"These charms aren't unbreakable, you know," Victoria hissed with a pointed glance at their surroundings. "I know who the heir is. But I don't know who staged the attacks."

She could hear Theo's jaw hit the floor. "They are different people?"

"Close your mouth, you look like a fish," Victoria said. "And yes, in a way. But also no. One is the king and the other is a pawn."

"I have no idea what you mean," Theo said, eyebrows inching up his forehead.

"Good thing I do," Victoria murmured sarcastically under her breath. "Hey, your father studies genealogy, right?"

Bewildered by the strange turn of the conversation, Theo could only nod.

"I assume he traced Slytherin's family?"

Theo nodded again - that particular study was a given.

"Could you ask him to send me the whole thing. Details and all. Especially the obscure, unimportant ones."

"Why do you need a thousand years worth of this stuff if you already know who the heir is? It's not exactly interesting."

She ran her tongue along the back of her teeth. "There are wards on the Malfoy Manor that don't let muggleborns through - blood magic, very old. I think it's woven into the walls themselves. Well, I've been to Malfoy Manor last year and I didn't set them off."

Theo sat down next to her, looking very thoughtful. "So, either you have magical ancestry that you don't know about, and your parents are squibs, not muggles -"

"Nope. If they were squibs they would've seen the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, and they didn't."

"Impossible. The wards have gone rusty."

"Impossible is what people tell themselves when they are scared and they want things to make sense. It's not real. There is no such thing as impossible. There is a way I could've gone through the wards - they didn't see me at all, and the only way for that to happen is if I'm not fully human. They only recognize muggles and muggleborns. A harpy, or a veela would be able to pass just fine."

Theo nodded thoughtfully. "You being a harpy explains a lot of things."

She laughed. "I know, right. So are you going to get me those records?"

"Alright. I'll ask father, but there's no guarantee he'll give me anything, he… Forget it. I'll try."

Victoria very much wanted to ask "he what?", but bit her tongue in the last moment. The Notts' business was not her own, and nosing around never did anyone favors. It was one of things people liked about her - she didn't snoop around, and when she did they were none the wiser.

"Thank you," she said instead, shoving Moste Potente Potions into her bag and leaving in a whirl of gold hair and black robes.

…

Victoria didn't realize her feet were carrying her upstairs before she found herself face-to-face with an out-of-order sign. Casting a discreet look about, she unlocked the door with a quick _Alohomora_ and slipped inside.

Moaning Myrtle's bathroom was empty. The ghost, along with her less than wanted commentary was nowhere to be seen, and so the only sound in the room came from a steadily dripping faucet.

She set her bag down on the floor, making a mental note to scourgify it later, and turned the tap. The dripping stopped. Her hand brushed across the snake on the faucet, the chipping gold leaf that covered it falling off at her touch and leaving glittering traces on her fingertips.

Suddenly, the door swung open with a loud bang.

Victoria wasted no time raising her wand. Ginny Weasley, the stumbling little Gryffindor, stood in the doorway, looking very much like she just left a slaughterhouse. Her robes were covered with large splotches of drying blood, and there were feathers stuck to it: gold, brown, red, green.

… _the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of a rooster, which is fatal to it… _

There was a small black journal in Ginny's hands, and it was spotless. But most incriminating of all were her eyes.

They were a vivid, bright red.

The air started to smell of thunderstorms, and turned very thin, so thin it was hard to breathe. Each inhale felt like swallowing a thousand needles, pointy tips dragging bloody lines down her aorta. Didn't she see Ginny right outside the door just days ago - hours before Collin Creevy's body was found?

Ginny - or Riddle - walked forward. Her outline seemed blurry, like she was fading away, melting into the journal.

Magic replaced air. It was running along Victoria's nerves from head to toe, sending tingles through her body, and with no other exit, it seeped through her skin in powerful waves, so vast it seemed infinite.

But it was not her magic.

Oh, it felt like hers, alright, but it acted nothing like the magic she ever used. This was wild, primal, and it responded to her whims serpent-fast, faster than she could form a coherent thought.

Perhaps that was why a stunning spell left her wand on its own accord, and the next second Ginny Weasley slowly sunk to the ground, unconscious. The journal slipped from her pale hands and skidded across the floor.

The next second the strange magic was gone, and the air turned breathable again.

Shuddering with adrenaline Victoria bent down and gingerly picked up the journal with the hem of her robes before depositing it in her bag. She swung the strap over her shoulder and whispered a quick "Rennervate".

Ginny didn't wake up.

There was a horrible sinking feeling in Victoria's gut.

Among all the blood and feathers, there were also trails of bright red mingling with coppery hair, and they seeped between the tiles, painting the floor with freshly oxygenated blood.

Ginny's chest was still.

She wasn't breathing.

And Victoria turned her back on the girl, leaving the door open as she walked away.

…

"_Time of death fifteen forty-one."_

…

"NONSENSE! The way she was lying - her knees were bent, she could not have hit her head hard enough to shattter her skull. The angle doesn't make sense, you dim-witted, narcissistic IDIOT!"

Madame Pomfrey was breathing heavily, her face red and scrunched up in anger, standing guard over a small form covered with a white sheet, her eyes half-mad with fury. Across from her an affronted Lockhart was huffing like a kettle. The rest of the staff - every single one of them, even the librarian, were torn between gawking at the body and gawking at the usually sweet-tempered Matron.

Dumbledore sat down on one of the cots, shoulders slumping.

"And explain me this: why did she have rooster blood and feathers on her, when Hagrid was saying that someone was killing his roosters for _months_?! The only thing that could kill a basilisk -"

"Now, Poppy, you don't mean to say that this girl, this _Gryffindor_, is actually the heir of Slytherin?" Lockhart interjected, looking like his person was the victim of a great injustice. "She's a _Weasley_."

Madame Pomfrey's hand twitched toward her wand. "I'm not saying that, you moron. I'm saying her death wasn't an accident. She is - was - just eleven. Children are always the easiest victims," she shook her head sadly. "It's a good thing she didn't close the door behind her. Mr. Longbottom found her only about ten minutes after the... Who knows how long it could've been otherwise. Though it wouldn't have mattered - with an injury like that death was instantaneous."

"We have to say it was an accident, Poppy," Dumbledore interjected gently. "To everyone. Her family too. You understand if the Ministry gets wind of this... "

"Yes," she chocked on the word. "Yes, of course, Headmaster."

...

"_The Stunning Spell, also known as a Stunning Charm, is a charm used to temporarily knock out a person, or stop a moving object with no permanent damage. It is particularly useful in dueling. The force behind the spell goes into the "stunning" effect - in case with living targets the stronger the spell the longer the target will be unconscious. Several "Stunners" simultaneously aimed at one target may amplify the effect, however, when used on creatures with no resistance to the spell, this action can result in a lasting coma, and had, on a few known occasions, caused eventual death."_

_B. Barrow; Charms, Spells, and Basic Dueling Techniques_

…

The Great Hall was bedecked with black. The house banners that hung over their respective tables were gone, replaced by yards of rippling black silk, and the enchanted ceiling showed nothing but fat black clouds, which hung low and heavy. The ghosts, instead of hovering around and about, and generally making a nuisance of themselves, floated still and silent against the walls. Even Peeves was sober.

None of the Weasleys were present. Neither was Victoria.

...

She fell asleep the second her head touched the pillow. She was sick - nauseous and utterly depleted of energy.

She thought she killed her. For a few utterly horrifying seconds she thought it was her spell that took Ginny's life. It wasn't.

The diary was warm. She knew when she touched it with her bare skin - saw how Ginny poured her soul out to it and how it stole that. How it fed off that. She saw how many excuses Ginny came with to justify keeping it when there were too many blanks in her memory to ignore. And how after she realized what she had done to Collin Creevy, it told her the only way it could stay with her was through death, and Ginny - Ginny promised she would murder for them.

It drove her mad. And she loved it.

...

It started to snow the next day. Fat, lumpy snowflakes fell from the overcast sky, and melted as soon as they reached the ground, making everything wet and muddy.

Victoria nestled on an ancient yew that grew on the border of the Forbidden Forest. Its vast canopy kept the branches dry, and she climbed them easily. From this height she could see the rugged hillside, the castle that stood on top of it, and Hagrid's little hut.

Aside from providing great views, the yew provided something far more valuable: isolation. The Forbidden Forrest was rarely ever traversed by students, even so close to the border, and even here it was dark in the extreme, allowing her to see the grounds without being seen. Maybe it was stupid to be there: it was the territory of werewolves, centaurs, and creatures that she would rather avoid. But it was so tranquil here. It wasn't the full moon, and centaurs lived deeper in the wood. She would be fine.

Victoria conjured a flame to see by, grabbed a self-writing quill, and took Riddle's diary out of her pocket.

"What are you?" she murmured, tapping the sharp point of her self-writing quill against the yellowed paper of the diary: all the pages were blank, like they were back when she first saw it that summer. Like Ginny never happened.

A drop of ink fell from the nib. For a second it just sat there, a dark bead, and then the page soaked it up. There wasn't a single trace left behind.

_"I never had the chance to introduce myself properly, did I? You were very careful, Victoria."_

_"Call me Savorgnan. I'm not going to call you Tom, as long as you return the favor."_

_"You don't like your name?"_

_"I like it. But it's use is reserved to a limited group of people, and I find false familiarity to be burdensome."_

_"I see. So Savorgnan, ask away. I'm sure you have a lot of questions."_

Her lips curled into a little self-satisfied smile. He was supposed to be one of the brightest students Hogwarts has ever seen, after all, and well-versed in the dark arts. Might as well use the opportunity while it's within her grasp.

_"Godelot wrote that to maximize the effect of the Flagrante curse... "_

…

**So…**

**Tom Riddle is a very, very poorly defined character with a ridiculously large fan-base, and everyone out there has their own idea of what is in-character and what is not. I personally don't like redemption arcs for him, so don't expect that, and if he ever acts like a decent person, then he's plotting something. I really want him and Victoria to have a special relationship, because they are so alike in personality, and to some extent goals, yet so different in how they go about reaching the said goals. (Let's face it, Victoria is shaping up to be power-hungry, slightly crazy, calculative, manipulative, all around controlling. Imagine these two clashing.)**

**Review, review, review please!**


	18. Chapter 18

**A.N.**

**I don't own Harry Potter. Who would have thought… **

**This might be my favorite chapter. It's 90% internal monologue, but it's a valuable insight into Victoria's head, and it's the point when she starts the journey from being the "smart and slightly scary girl" to a leader, and someone who people almost worship *waves to Riddle in the 1940s*. It's very politician-_ish_. She's twelve. **

**Enjoy!**

Rumor can be far more convincing than an outright declaration.

_When you throw something in people's faces_, Victoria thought as she sat in the Great Hall one breakfast, watching Maranne Woodsworth whisper something to her friends, _especially if it goes against what they believe in, they automatically throw up a kind of wall._ A stubborn, narrow-minded, mulish defense - but it keeps them sane and their delicate ideas of right and wrong safe. It's natural.

But a rumor, shared in confidence between two friends and accidentally overheard worms its way into their heads and stays there like a persistent itch. A rumor that wasn't meant to for them - when put in the right way, or just _repeated _often enough will put down roots that are hard to remove.

_Repetition_. Humans, wizards or muggles, are social animals. If the same thing keeps coming at different times from different sources we instinctively assume that it is something _everyone _knows, and therefore, it must be true. That rigid belief system? It's _too _rigid - so rigid that it can only deflect blunt, forward attacks - it blocks the wide swish of the sword but not the sly cut of the pen-knife.

This principle can convince a person that Lockhart's electric blue robes look very dashing, or that Dumbledore is an evil politician who plans to take over the ministry. It can make Collin Creevy seem extremely powerful in the eyes of the staunchest blood-puritist, and Draco Malfoy an open-minded, progressive visionary in the eyes of a Weasely.

But it has to be used carefully.

"Go ahead," Victoria told her friends as she finished her coffee. "I'll catch up with you."

"We only have ten minutes to get to the dungeons. Snape will make you scrub old cauldrons all day if you're late, or, if he's in a bad mood, tutor some Gryffindor firsties," Blaize said, looking thoughtful. "Did you spit in his dinner or something? He hates you."

"I'm aware. Now leave me in peace before I spit in _your _dinner - or your Strengthening Solution. I reckon Snape won't be too happy if you fail it again."

"I hate you."

"The feeling is mutual. Oh, and don't forget - dried spiders are the things with eight legs and dried worms are the ones don't have any - the directions call for spiders."

"You're an awful person."

"I'm delightful. Leave."

She watched them walk away over the rim of her pristine white cup. Yes, rumors are useful things - dangerous things, especially in the hands of an idiot who doesn't know their power - Maranne, for instance. The older girl set a lens: everything Victoria does now will be viewed through it.

But it doesn't have to be disadvantageous. Not if she starts a rumor about Ginny. It is cruel, maybe, and disrespectful to the dead. But that's just the thing: Ginny is dead. No one in the whole bloody school, except for her brothers, cares that she is gone. To most she is just the girl who died in the bathroom. Like Myrtle: she is joke, a thing to talk about.

They are pathetic, pitiful, stupid little children. They're human, and there is no worse or more fitting insult.

…

Victoria really liked History of Magic. For one she got very good at blocking out Professor Binns' dull voice, and the resulting ample time could be used to learn something interesting. Two, the class provided the best opportunity to practice things that required intense concentration.

Like manipulating light.

Obviously magic had laws - but laws didn't necessarily mean limitations. There was a way to do anything, but it would follow the general framework that these laws set - you couldn't conjure food, for instance, but you could conjure something that could be made into food - with some high-level transfiguration that was so complicated that it made _her _head hurt - and made the appeal of mastering it even stronger.

Where was she? Oh, light manipulation. Right. She could almost see her concentration wave her goodbye and fly out of the open window. Why was the window even open in mid-December? Was Binns expecting an owl? She dismissed the idea immediately. Someone else then. By why here?…

Draco sat right under the window, his back ram-rod straight and his chin in the air. Afraid then.

She dropped her eyes faster than he could catch her watching, and closed the lids shut. She could think about this new development later.

Concentration is the key. The electromagnetic spectrum is the mechanism it's supposed to unlock. She thought visible light would be the easiest. She thought wrong.

Not that it wasn't easiest exactly - and it's the only one she needed (for now) anyway - but by focusing on what she saw she could only form little spheres of light - useful when reading in the darkness and not much else.

Illusions weren't about making light. They were about taking the light that was already there and bending it, and that needed a different approach.

Light is everywhere. She felt it on her skin, it was streaming through the windows, reflecting off objects to give their color. Whether a certain wavelength is absorbed or reflected depends on the properties of the object, but magic could cheat that. Say if she made _all _visible light pass _into_ her quill it would appear black. The same idea could be used to make it invisible - only she would have to bend it around the object instead.

Slowly she began to thread her magic through the air like a net, splitting it up into small squares, and those into smaller squares, until she could feel a sort of vibration ring through the air like an extension of her. She was the light - a small part of its spectrum anyway. She could "see" the quill, could tell exactly which wavelength reflected from it and which was absorbed.

Sweat gathered on her brow, and her hands involuntarily clenched, nails biting into the soft flesh of her palm. She opened her eyes.

For the briefest moment the quill flashed black.

And then the bell rang, and the magical net collapsed like a card house, and everything started spinning and…

_Pull it together, dammit!_

She got up on unsturdy legs and leaned heavily against the desk. Bad move - everything was blurring _and _spinning now. But she had to get out. Fainting in public would not be advantageous. Why she was so sick so suddenly was a question that would have to wait.

"Victoria?" a concerned Theo shook her shoulder. Oh, she could've _murdered _him for that. She half-hissed half-growled her displeasure and prayed she wouldn't throw up on the polished walnut desk - that was just as bad as fainting. Worse, for the desk. And for the house-elf that would have to clean it.

"Infirmary," she slurred, and slowly, cautiously moved forward, clutching Theo's arm, while trying to look like she was doing the exact opposite.

"You're giving me a bruise," he grit through his teeth, and she almost felt bad for him. _Almost_.

"Are they staring?" she tried to ask. It didn't come out very clear. Shouldn't she be getting better, not worse?

"Wha… No, they are barely awake. I have your bag - what the hell happened? Are you sick?"

She made a cultured sound _a la_ Narcissa Malfoy that in a normal person would've been called a whimper. "No. I'm peachy. Can't you tell?"

"Sorry, stupid phrasing. I mean: _were _you sick? Or is this just random? Did you eat something…?"

"Shooah uh," she muttered. It was supposed to be "shut up". Her weight rested fully on Theo now - he wrapped his arm around her waist awkwardly to support her and hoped they wouldn't run into anyone who would pay them any attention.

As luck would have it, they did.

Snape was walking in their direction, yet oblivious of what was happening, a reluctant Potter trailing behind him. The Gryffindor was studying the floor as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

"... private stores. Do you know, Potter, what this is?" Snape took out a flask full of some clear potion. "Veritaserum. Truth Serum. Liar's Peril," his voice was level. "One tremor of my hand over your morning pumpkin juice - Nott! Savorgnan!"

"Professor," Theo said, as Victoria groaned something that vaguely resembled "go to hell". They were some twenty feet away from the infirmary doors.

"What are the two of you doing? It's class time. Twenty points -"

Victoria didn't hear the rest.

…

She was lying on something soft. Her fingers twitched - fabric. Not nearly fine enough to be her silken Slytherin sheets. Cotton, if she had to guess. They smelled of Dittany and a peculiar kind of cleanliness.

She opened her eyes to a stark white ceiling. Hospital Wing. She was in the Hospital Wing.

"Oh, you're awake, deary. Do you want some water? You gave us all quite the fright yesterday." Madame Pomfrey.

So it was Thursday already. Morning, if the sickly grey of the sky was any indication.

She could see Snape standing on the other side of the room, an ominous dark figure. He was talking to someone - his lips were moving. She craned her neck to get a look, but her sight was obscured by perfectly coiled blonde hair.

"Cissy!" she squealed in a hoarse voice, throwing her arms around the woman - mostly to get a look over her shoulder. Lucius Malfoy was there - and another man in dark robes. There was something familiar about him.

A glass of water was pressed to her lips: she drank a few gulps and attempted to sit up, but was pushed back by Madame Pomfrey.

"I feel fine," Victoria protested. "And I can't lie still any longer - my muscles hurt from disuse: I want to move."

"Just because you _feel _fine doesn't mean that you _are _fine. It was a burn-out - with all the stress you've been under lately it is to be expected."

Narcissa scoffed elegantly. "A burn-out," she said, her voice dripping sarcasm. "An _accident_. Funny what a _coincidence_, isn't it?"

The Matron pressed her mouth into a thin white line, and after a moment's hesitation turned on her heel and left, her shoulders visibly tense.

"It wasn't a burn-out," Victoria said. It wasn't a question. "I was fine: exhausted, but not from using too much magic. I could've pushed more. I got sick after I stopped. Just like last year when I used a shield charm. That's not how…"

"This happened before?" there was a little furrow between Narcissa's meticulously plucked eyebrows.

"Once. When the troll attacked - or afterward, I guess. But it wasn't as sudden: maybe I had a delayed reaction because of adrenaline. Maybe the magic I used was less complex…" Victoria trailed off, her eyes distant. She was missing something: there was a glaring hole in the puzzle and she couldn't make heads or tails of it.

Narcissa was looking at her oddly. Her eyes were narrowed just slightly, and her hand twitched briefly: not a good sign.

"Narcissa?" there was a note of warning in Victoria's voice.

For a second the Malfoy matriarch looked like she was about to say something, but then her eyes hardened. "You need to rest," she said, and with a little smile - not a real one this time, joined her husband.

What are they hiding?

…

Victoria wasn't released from the Hospital Wing until Saturday, and she was allowed no visitors. It was an overkill: she was perfectly healthy, no matter how much Pomfrey tried to convince her she wasn't.

She hoped Theo would get that research soon. It was becoming a pressing matter.

With no homework or extracurricular things to do she was left with no options but to _think_. And think she did, until her head was spinning off in a thousand different directions and for every answer, or a shadow of one, she had ten new questions.

Her head was a scary place. Merlin help the next idiot who decides to nose around there.

There were several especially _stand-out-ish _things she did: the shield charm, the animagi transformation, the stunner, and the light bending. Of those four the hardest, most complex one was the animagi transformation, and yet she did not get the kind of reaction to it as she did to the other two. So, either it's not about complexity, or she is on a completely wrong trail.

Suppose it is the first. The shield charm was strange - strange as in it was a shield charm, and a blasting charm, and god-knows-what-else wrapped up into something strong enough to throw a full-grown mountain troll into a wall with enough force to kill. She wasn't following directions when she cast it - she was being creative and fast-thinking in the heat of action. The attempt at light-bending… it was wandless, and it was experimentative. It was something completely new.

So maybe it really wasn't about how complicated the magic was - maybe it was about how much of herself she put in it.

Oh, she doesn't want to test this particular hypothesis, but it is the only way to find out if it has merit. She hopes she's wrong. She hopes it's something else, because the limitations this puts on her are horrifying.

That didn't answer why her body reacted the way it did. It was not opposed to the magic - but when she stoped using it there was this moment when it catched up to what she did and freaked out. A delayed reaction.

Narcissa knew something. Lucius, Snape, that other man - they all knew something, but they didn't tell her. There are two reasons for keeping secrets: either they don't want someone else to know, or they don't want someone else to know that they know. Any other reason would be a subset of one of these.

It could also be both.

She fell back into her pillows like a crashing wave. She wished she had Riddle to argue with - dispassionately, as always, but what could be more satisfying than a good game of cat and mouse - but she kept him under lock and key.

Besides, there was something _wrong_ about wanting to talk with him, something _unnatural_. The image of the diary became intertwined in her mind with that of a venus flytrap. Attractive, and deadly. She wasn't stupid enough to think that wanting something is an excuse for being weak. Desires are for those who can control them, and not those who let themselves be controlled. Wanting something too much, and relying on anything other than her own brain to get it is a recipe for disaster.

Generally, if desire is stronger than common sense, it is a signal to flee. Leave it be and look for a different route to achieve the ultimate goal. Be flexible.

…

**Please review if you like it. And if you don't like it. **

**I'm going to be getting to the action really soon, but the character-building is necessary. This story is going to get complicated.**

**Do you like this writing style, or should I go back to the way it was before: less though process, more talk, longer, more complex sentences? Let me know.**

**If you want to see a specific interaction or scene happening let me know! Oh, and dueling club is coming next chapter!**


	19. Chapter 19

**I don't own Harry Potter.**

...

The night sky was black and cloudless. The stars shone over Hogwarts like a million diamonds, the only thing lighting the Headmaster's office aside from a small ball of conjured bluebell flames hoovering above the desk.

Dumbledore stared blankly at the report in front of him, not seeing anything. Not hearing, perhaps, the steps outside the door.

Severus invited himself in. "The Malfoys aren't happy with you for suppressing their pet muggleborn's powers. Livid, actually. You're loosing your touch, Albus. The Board of Governors was at your neck since Creevy, and with Weasley dead, Savorgnan might be the last straw."

"I'm suppressing a certain part of her powers that are better left hidden."

"Better for whom?"

"Everyone. Herself included."

Severus closed his eyes. "She is a decent person. Not good, but _better_. Stronger."

"I know. Fawkes adores her. But she's not -"

"Controllable."

"Yes."

Severus walked toward the window, hands folded behind his back. "And what of Weasley?"

"We're missing a piece. Something was _not_ there - she lost consciousness before she died, but why? That's the question I'm asking myself. There was nothing suspicious found on her, but there were traces of dark magic everywhere," Dumbledore shook his head. "She was slowly dying - perhaps for months."

"So someone was on scene before us - Longbottom was the one who found her -"

"Mr. Longbottom noticed that blood was trickling from the room. He didn't come near the body - there were several students in the corridor who testified to that."

"Myrtle?"

"Said she was in the lake that day."

Severus spun around. "So, we're waiting for another attack. It might not be a petrification next time, Albus."

"No. It might be another death."

...

During the days Victoria spent in the infirmary there was a lot of time to spare. Twelve hours every day, give or take. Apparently having nothing to do wasn't helping her well-being: she may have gone temporarily insane, which left-her with a craziest, most ingeniously simple idea.

It looked a lot less crazy from this side of the infirmary doors. There was just one _tiny _hiccup: she ran the risk of going to Azkaban for it.

_Only if I get caught_, she told herself as she pinned her hair into a neat knot at the nape of her neck Saturday morning. _And I'm not planning on it._

Here was an opportunity to kill several birds with one stone, and she was just as soon slit her own throat as let it pass. One of the said birds was Maranne Woodsworth - an idiot, yes but an idiot with teeth, and they were begging to gnaw at Victoria. Someone would have to get framed - she might as well put Maranne out of commission while at it.

But first, the Basilisk.

Victoria approached the second-floor girls bathroom through the pipes from the first-floor girls bathroom in broad daylight. The reason? Everybody expects her to be at the library, so her absence wouldn't be considered strange. Her housemates know better than to look for her when she's reading.

The first-floor bathroom was just down the hall from the library. It was a pain to procure the plan of Hogwarts' sewage system, but she was able to find it on a dusty shelf in the back of the library, so high up she doubted anyone even knew it was there. She memorized it - well, a chunk of it. Enough to find her way in and out of the Chamber.

The wizard who engineered the sewer in the eighteenth century was named Corvinus Gaunt. What a shocker.

But she had to admit it was a smart idea: no one (except for herself and Riddle apparently - _and isn't that a flattering thought_) would think of looking for the great mythical Chamber in a _bathroom_.

Now that she was actually in the pipes, she thought different. It was not a smart idea. It was an absolutely _awful_ one.

Heavens above, was it _disgusting_. Her forked tongue picked up _too _much, the reek of dirty, foul water, blood, saliva, vomit, and… other things bordering on unbearable.

But, she would handle much worse if it meant going undetected.

The actual entry to the bathroom was sealed shut after Ginny's "accident", and Myrtle was ordered to move out of her u-bend: but how much power could an order like this hold over a ghost who can simply pass through the walls?

She flicked her tongue out every few seconds, trying to "scent" anything serpentine, but the only smell she found among these particular pipes were rats.

_Not food_, she reminded herself. _Though if I'm ever on a run…_

Suddenly the pipe she was slithering through ended: this was not on the plan. Which means it had to lead to the Chamber - a wide pipe. Wide enough for a giant serpent to pass through with room to spare.

And then she caught it: faint, old, but still present. The scent of the Basilisk, and it was… terrifying. It made her hood puff out on its own accord, the unnaturally curved half-ribs half-limbs readying to take flight and get the hell away. This was the realm of a bigger, stronger predator.

Her human sense pushed her to go forward.

She hung - stuck - half her body over the edge and attempted to discern where the pipe led - straight down.

She slid off before she had time to think. It was better sometimes, to act without letting self-preservation - snakes were very paranoid, nervous things - get hold.

The landing was soft. Partially she had her muscular body to thank for it, but most of her gratitude went to the grime-coated floor sprinkled with rodent bones like icing on a cake.

She transformed. Everything went dark: night vision was limited to her scaly self, so she conjured some green flames in her hand, and pointedly stared downward. Just in case.

One would think that someone as pompous as Salazar Slytherin, who literally built an underground shrine to himself and got one of the rarest creatures in the world to inhabit it, would think of some way to keep the said shrine clean. But no, he did not.

There had to be a thousand years of grime under her boots. Grime, and carcasses. It wasn't the Basilisk's dinner either: snakes swallowed food whole, so all of these had to come from connecting pipes, slowly but surely sliding down to rest here.

She felt she could've lived without a hands-on lesson on rodent anatomy, but she wasn't squeamish about it. These were only bones, and as her aunt (a doctor) once said: fear the living, not the dead.

The living were smart enough to have forsaken this place for somewhere safer. She, apparently, was the stupid one.

The room she found herself in was a kind of antechamber, with the pipe on one side and a door on the other, engraved with two snakes twisted around each other, their emerald eyes oddly clean and gleaming threateningly.

She made her flames burn a little brighter. A little ways to the left was a large thing, at least three feet tall and ten times that long. It didn't gleam: shed skin never does.

She sloshed through the muck to approach it.

Venomous snakes shed their fangs every six to eight weeks - and when it came to it, the Basilisk was just a very, _very _big venomous snake. Which can kill with a look. A sobering thought - especially now that she was face to face with the fangs, each as long as her forearm, yellowed and pointy.

She carefully transferred the few drops of clear, syrupy paste stuck along the hollow insides of the teeth to a small vial. It wasn't much, but she wasn't too keen on the idea of walking up to the Basilisk and nicely asking it to let her milk it.

A quarter of teaspoon would suffice. She only needed to be _truly _petrified for a few hours while she was examined, and then… she'll improvise.

…

It was a little disturbing to know that the doors each individual dorm weren't warded. At all. To sneak - to walk in, indiscreetly - while everyone was out somewhere else was only too easy.

Maranne's trunk was open, robes of every color imaginable pouring out of it in a rainbow of silks, cashmere, and furs, and hidden beneath that were several… questionable magazines. The kind that Woodsworth would most definitely unpack herself.

It took two seconds to slip it in between the bright, glossy pages. Two seconds to ruin the girl's life forever.

Her hand didn't shake.

…

Theodore was walking across the grounds in no particular direction. It was nice outside - cold, cloudy, and therefore empty. Draco was practicing for Quidditch, and Blaise stayed inside, lying on the rug in front of the Common Room fire like a content cat.

Well. Maybe he _was _looking for something.

Victoria wasn't very easy to spot when she didn't want to be spotted. She had a knack for getting in and out of places without anyone realizing she ever left, or was there to begin with. That, and she was always disturbingly still. She might as well have been a statue.

A snowball landed on the back of his head and he whipped around looking for the culprit. Ah. So this was one of her social - er, less antisocial - days.

"Good to see you in full health," he said, shaking his hair out. "I think that bruise is permanent by the way. You're a bit stronger than you look."

"Only a bit?" she arched an eyebrow at him, smiling. "You wound me, liar. Did your honesty catch a cold?"

"I'm afraid so," he said, letting a note of tragedy seep into his voice. "Honesty had to be quarantined."

"I see. Well, in this case would you be terribly opposed if I come to your estate to raid your library?"

"And here I thought you enjoyed my company."

She sent him an incredulous, slightly pained look. "If I didn't enjoy your company, I would have asked Malfoy. Their library is bigger."

"Alright," he said after a pause. "I don't think father would mind."

She beamed at him. "Perfect." He expected her to run off, her goal accomplished, but she stuck by his side, and they walked together in comfortable silence.

Suddenly he felt a sharp tug on his sleeve and turned to see Victoria crouched behind a tree - how did she move so quickly - beckoning him to hide.

"What?" he asked as he sat down in the snow next to her.

"Lockhart," she said, with an edge to her voice. "I can't stand him, and he makes it a point to talk to me whenever he sees me. I think he confuses me with one of his fan-girls: _I _don't care for how many autographs he had to sign in one day - _he _thinks it very exhausting."

A laugh bubbled up in his throat and his lips stretched in amusement. "You would've loved to see him at the Dueling Club."

"Oh that - how was it?" she asked much in the same tone as "What did he do this time?"

"He had Snape duel him. Lost on the first spell."

"I wish I saw that. Is it going to be held regularly?"

"The club? Yes, I think so. It was a good laugh, and a lot of the students came there to throw jinxes at each other and get away with it. Nothing _too_ damaging, of course. The goal is to disarm."

He completely missed the glint of satisfaction that passed through her eyes. It was subtle, quiet triumph: a quickly passing glow in her irises.

…

Christmas passed in a blur.

The smell of treacle and ginger hung in her house those weeks, warm and inviting. She listened to her parents talk about their lives, and said little about her own, because she was under no delusion that they would understand. They would try, but trying isn't the same as doing. They had their world, and she was flitting back and forth between two, a part of one, yet haunted by the other.

Living a lie, however, came with benefits. A sort of payback for the effort it cost to maintain these two worlds without getting ripped apart.

Caffeine tablets for instance - awfully useful things. Very helpful in inducing a bought of temporary insomnia on an unsuspecting pureblood.

The irony wasn't lost on her.

…

"How exactly does this work?"

"You throw the powder into the fireplace and shout your destination."

She gave Theo a flat, unamused look. Ashes - she was going to dump a pot on ash on herself and then travel through the chimney. She would prefer a car.

Wizards. They can hold the sun in their hands and yet they can't think of a comfortable way to move around. Broomsticks (even cushioning charms are powerless there), apparation (she vividly remembered how side-along felt), and now Floo.

"Why don't you go first, and I'll watch," she said, doubtfully eyeing the dark, dull grey powder offered to her.

"Fine. It doesn't bite, you know."

She kept her "you never know _anything _in the wizarding world" to herself. Side-apparation was looking more and more like a joy-ride compared to what awaited.

Theo stepped into the fireplace and, with a shout of "Nott Estate" was gone in a whoosh of bright green flames - not green like hers, but a flat, stop-light-like green.

She stood rooted to the spot for a second, resigning herself to her fate, then followed, vanishing in a heartbeat.

…

The older Theodore Nott was an absolute delight.

"What the devil do you need, girl? And close the door - it's drafty."

It was ten degrees above _un_comfortably warm, and the air was stifling.

"Drafty implies that there is a draft," she said, fanning herself with both hands, "And since there aren't any windows in this room I should think that impossible."

Nott narrowed his eyes. They were a very dark brown, like his hair, and his skin, like his son's, was tanned. "You aren't here for some light reading," he gestured to the tall bookshelves.

"Touche."

He glared at her; she glared back.

"Fifth shelf on your right, bottom row," Nott said through his teeth. "And make haste. I haven't got all day."

_I'm sure you'll be be very busy staring at the wall_, she wanted to tell him. With a mocking little curtsy she went for the shelf he mentioned, and searched through the titles in the bottom row. It wasn't a very time-consuming task. There was nothing there except for thirty different editions of "The Pureblood Directory".

For a second she was struck with terror. She was about to open her mouth and ask what on Earth he was playing at, when a slip of parchment tucked between the tomes caught her eye.

She snatched it up.

The parchment was ridiculously brittle - too old and too carelessly preserved for too long to be fully comprehensible. It was rough at one edge, as though someone ripped it away from the end of a longer scroll. The ink was faint.

… _S was attacked yesterday… twenty men, all with Patronuses… no point… suppression… There is nowhere left to hide… Ollivander came this morning, I don't think… abomination… _

An old memory rose in her mind, of another Ollivander and a strange old wand.

_"This wand was made by my ancestor many, many centuries ago, at a… special request of a certain acquaintance - yew, thirteen inches, unyielding. It has a very special core, that I'm afraid I can't tell you much about, except that the creature from whom it was taken was the last of her kind. They exist no longer. Luckily for us all."_

_Abomination_.

...

**Please review! I want to hear your theories as to what Victoria is planning and what the ending meant.**

**I have an idea of what to do for third year, but it's only going to be about five chapters or less - same with forth year. Nothing particularly important happens then - the fun starts fifth year, but I just had to include Sirius. And Yule Ball. **

**As always, if you want to see something happen, I'll be happy to oblige.**


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